Mount Rancour
by ThePlotMurderers
Summary: In the Austrian Alps, a killer stalks a group of Christmas guests and local villagers. The killer? One of them.
1. Chapter 1

**Mount Rancour**

**Disclaimer: Read our Series of Queer Events. That has all the legal info.**

**A/N: Here's our Christmas treat! Our first HI fic and our first murder mystery. Every day this week, a new chapter will be posted featuring inventive murders, grand drama and a cozy Christmas feel. We'd like to welcome all our old reviewers as well as any new ones.**

**Let's get started!**

**Cast of Characters**

**At the Hotel**

**Richard Lewis: The Patriarch**

**Minerva Lewis: The Power-Mom**

**Selina Lewis: The Ingenue**

**Eddy Lewis: The Family Dog**

**Walter Adams: The Fiance**

**Jocelyn Adams: The Supportive Sister**

**Roger Adams: The Party-Animal**

**Yvette Schneider: The Singer**

**Eliezier Groman: The Agent**

**Emilia DeStefano: The Grande Dame**

**Rudolph DeStefano: The Philantrophist**

**Kathy Smith: The Tourist**

**Christopher Lewin: The Student**

**Lois Burkely: The Teacher**

**Nicholas Antoni: The Writer**

**Frances Antoni: The Publisher**

**Gloria Miller: The Clutz**

**Ben Hastings: The Brickhouse**

**Igor Weiss: The Manager**

**Hildregarde Vishtko: The Cheif of Staff**

**Hans Toblar: The Master-Chef**

**Frau. Bilkenau: The Tabby Cat**

**In the Village**

**Rachel Bartow: The Shop-Keeper**

**Gerard Dietrich: The Gondola-Operator**

**Ernst Reynald: The War Hero**

**Geraldine Reynald: The House-wife**

**Zaccarias Oscow: The Cabby**

**Maria Benardine: The Reporter**

**Erzebeth Flaton:The Town Matron**

**Wilhelm Carris: The Town Constable**

**Oscar Gobler: The Deputy**

**These People Are All The Targets of a Mad Killer**

**In the Sleepy Village of Geimhaven, Austria nothing ever happens,**

**except murder**

**At the Weinbeck Hotel above town, a party gathers for a week of Christamas fun, they too will begin to die**

**Who is the murderer?**

**One of them**

**One of them**

**One of them**

**Chapter 1, Whirr, Whirr, Whirr, Ka-Thunk!**

**Zaccarias Oscow sat at the wheel of his rusty bus, looking over the ridge onto the worn stone road. This road led through the mountains from Zaccarias' home of Geimhaven to the local train platform. Of course, 'local' in this case meant: 'five miles away'. It was Zaccarias' job to bring people to and from the village to the trains as he was the owner of the only bus company in the village. Though, in this case, there was only one bus and it hadn't been in it's prime since the 1960's.**

**Today, Zaccarias, or 'Zach' as his friends knew him, was going to bring a large party up to to the Weinbeck Hotel on Mount Rancour, the slope above town. They had all paid a great deal of money to be included in the week-long Christmas party. Zach thought it was all a great nuisence. At twenty-five, he had seen very little of the world beyond Geimhaven and moreover, he did not wish to see it. These groups of international tourists would come up to the Weinbeck once or twice every year and gush on the 'rustic charm' and 'simple joys' of living in a place like Geimhaven. Really, if they had any idea what it was like to work all the day and spend every waking moment in the freezing cold,they wouldn't be gushing. The Weinbeck itself was just an attempt to make money by expoiting a simple town and having people gawk at them.**

**Zach sighed and switched on the bus, heard it cough and sputter for five minutes and finally kick into gear.**

**He drove down the mountain.**

**"Honey, where's Selia?"**

**"I think she's still in the compartment."**

**"Could you fetch her?"**

**"Yes, dear. You get a porter."**

**With that, Richard Lewis walked from his wife, Minerva and went off to search for his daughter, Secilia.**

**The train crew was bustling up and down the corridor, unloading luggage and assisting disgruntled passengers. It was in the family compartment that he shared with Minerva where he found Selia, curled up into a ball and sleeping.**

**Richard shook her gently, "Selia, wake up, honey. We're at the station."**

**Selia stirred qiuetly and said to her father, "Good morning, Daddy. Where's Walter?"**

**Walter Adams, Selia's fiance, had been the one who insisted on them all going into the mountains for a Christmas party. Well, of course, it _would _be his idea! Richard barely had enough money to support his family of three. It was really one of the main reasons he had allowed his swooning daughter to take Walter's hand. Walter was the middle son of three children. A wealthy, influential family.**

**There was a sound of sharp yapping and through the bunk sheets emerged Selia's little beagle puppy: Eddy. Eddy had recently been born of their older dog, Sally. Selia had insisted on little Eddy going with them on the trip while Sally stayed with a housesitter in New York.**

**"I'll be dressed in a moment, Daddy." Selia told Richard, "And please take Eddy to get some breakfast. He likes chicken."**

**With that, the little dog was thrust into Richard's arms and Richard marched back into the corridor.**

**"Chris, where's my camera bag?" Kathy Smith asked her apprentice, Christopher Lewin.**

**"Have you checked your duffel?"**

**"You know what, dear? I didn't. Now, you go and stretch your legs a mite. It'll do you some good."**

**"Sure." Chris nodded. He loved helping Kathy, an old friend of the family. When she had won tickets for herself and a friend to go to the Weinbeck Hotel, she wasted no time in recruiting the favorite student from her senior photography class at the University of Virginia.**

**Kathy stretched up to her overhead rack and pulled down her duffel bag. Unzipping it, she found her camera, tripod, lens cap and extra memory cards.**

**"There we are!" she nodded approvingly.**

**Slinging her duffel over her shoulder, Kathy left the compartment.**

**Gloria Miller stepped onto the platform, buttoned up to the neck in a wool coat, three mufflers around her neck and thick gloves on her hands. Someone came down the stairs from the train behind her, "Excuse me?" Gloria turned to see a man with the exact proportions of a tree. He was enormously built, with sandy hair and dark green eyes. "Excuse me, can I get by?" he said impatiently.**

**"Oh! Um, sure."**

**Gloria took a step back and fell headlong into a luggage cart. Damn! Why was it always her? Embarressing herself in front of this hunk of ice!**

**The man came over to her, "You alright?" he asked.**

**"Yeah." was all Gloria could get out.**

**"Cool." the man was indifferent as anything as he helped her to her feet and walked off, leaving Gloria cursing her clumsiness.**

**"Emilia, hurry up! The train's stopped!" Rudolph DeStefano tapped on the bathroom door in which his wife was showering.**

**"Rudi, what time does the shuttel come?" she snapped back at him through the sound of running water. "Nine o'clock." he told her.**

**"I still have time!" she insisted.**

**Rudi sighed, he sometimes wondered why he ever married Emilia. The woman was a bumbling ditz from a family of Venetian art collectors. He was a self-made millionaire and head of his own printing company. She had married him for money at first, but had grown to love him. Still, he didn't know why they had to leave Rome and miss out on Christmas with the family in order to go to some dull weakend atop Mount Rancour.**

**"Well, hurry up, then!" he advised his wife through the door, "And try not to put to much foundation this time. We've no time for that!"**

**Emilia gave a long, drawn out gasp which was apparently a sigh of contempt.**

**"One week with _her_?" Rudi rubbed his temples, "How in hell will I last?"**

**Nicholas Antoni dragged his sister and luggage out of the train. "When does the bus leave?" Frances had asked. "Thirty minutes from now!" He told her.**

**"Then why are we rushing?"**

**"I want a front-row seat." he winked at her.**

**"God, mom was right! You're such a prima donna!" Frances said playfully.**

**"Oh, shut your ass!" Nick nudged her, chuckling.**

**They went on through the little station, laughing and talking, until Frances crashed head-long with a harried looking woman in her forties.**

**"Oh! I'm so sorry!" The woman stood up and helped Frances to her feet while Nick retrieved the woman's little black case.**

**"No, it was my fault." Frances placated her, "We weren't looking where we were going."**

**"_We?_" Nick muttered under his breath. Frances ignored him.**

**"Well, thank you all the same." the woman smiled, "My name is Lois. What's yours?"**

**"I'm Frances Antoni, and this is my twin brother, Nick."**

**"Hi." Nick waved as best he could while being hindered by his and Frances' luggage.**

**"Are you going to the Weinbeck Hotel?" Lois asked them, interested.**

**"Yeah, we are." Nick said, "Are you?"**

**"Yes. It's about time I made use of Christmas vacation. Every year, school lets out and I stay at home preparing mid-terms."**

**"Oh, you're a teacher?" Frances wondered.**

**"Yes. I teach at a small high-school in Maine."**

**"That must be lovely! We're from Vegas, so we rarely see snow."**

**"Las Vegas! Oh, goodness, really? It must be wonderful being so close to the casinos."**

**"Actually..."**

**Nick rolled his eyes as the two women chattered on and on about everything imaginable.**

**So much for a front seat on the bus.**

**"Walter, come on!" Roger Adams rushed his older brother, Walter.**

**"I'm looking for Selia." Walter lagged behind on the platform.**

**"She's not gonna go without you!" Roger spread his arms wide. At nineteen years old, Roger was the most enthused in his family. What with their older sister, Jocelyn, being in charge of the family business and Walter fussing about stocks and shares and that wedding of his in May, Roger was the only bright one around. Unlike most people his age, Roger had money. A lot of it. And he was perfectly happy to use it to his heart's content.**

**"Selia will come. You shouldn't worry so much, bro!"**

**"What are you two doing?" came a familier voice. The two brothers turned to see Joyce herself come barging towards them, her arms full of suitcases.**

**"We're in deep shit now." Roger whispered to Walter, who was already running towards Joyce.**

**"You left the train without telling me. You left all the luggage for me to carry. Oh, and Selia's looking everywhere for you, Walter!"**

**"Where is she?" Walter sighed**

**"Back there." Joyce jerked her thumb over her shoulder.**

**Walter ran off.**

**Joyce took one look at Roger and thrust three cases into his arms.**

**"There's a good boy." she said approvingly as they continued on.**

**Joyce never wanted to be too hard on her siblings, but since Dad had died, it was up to her to be a parent. Walter was always glad to help but he was always out spending time with Selia now. Roger was completely hopeless, though. Every waking moment of his life was spent going to parties and sleeping with women in the back of the Lamborghni which Joyce of course had to pay for.**

**But Joyce loved her brothers as much as anything. Life was just frustrating. Her friends all envied her. They said she was so lucky to have money and influence. Then again, none of them were orphans. Joyce hoped this week with Walter and the Lewis' would help her family, and it's new members, come together at last.**

**She could only hope.**

**Yvette Schnieder stepped into the rickety, foul-smelling bus, followed by her agent: Eliezer Groman. The man in the driver's seat stared at them and said in broken English, "Tickets?" he prononced the word as though it were poison on his tongue.**

**"We have them here." Eli smiled as he spoke in his flawless, light acented English. That was one thing she liked about Eliezer, his eloquence. Actually, that might be the _only _thing she liked about him.**

**This deal had been hard to book. Singing at a Christmas party for the rich and famous. It would certainly provide the needed money to perform abroad and might even cover up her former job. Of course, the 'former job' was barely a job at all. Just something she had thought she could pull off to pay through college.**

**"Where do you want to sit?" Eli asked her.**

**Yvette answered by smiling and sitting in the front seat to the right, Eli sat next to her.**

**"Have you spoken with the manager?" Yvette asked him.**

**"Yes. A peculier man. Name's Weiss or something like that. He'll provide you with a list of songs for the welcome dinner when we arrive.**

**"Thank you, Eli." Yvette said brusqely. She always thanked Eli like this. Quick and hurried. But did he really expect her to be warm and clingy to him after what had happened in the summer?**

**Yvette was brought out of her thoughts, though, as others entered the bus.**

**Minerva looked around at the others sitting around her. She felt it nescecery, considering that she was going to be living with these people for the next week.**

**They were all very different looking from each other. In one corner sat a powerful looking hulk of a man. In another, an aristocratic couple were sitting upright, trying not to talk to each other, from all appearences. In the seat behind her and Richard were a plump, matronly woman and a young man with several bags in his lap. The woman was fishing out an exepensvie camera, really the most lavish thing she seemed to posses and was poising it as though she was preparing to take pictures. Her daughter was sitting next to Walter. Minerva approved of Walter. He was more than able to support a family with Selia and he was _very _attractive. She didn't know why Rich didn't like him as well.**

**The bus struck the first of what would probably be many bumps in the mountain road and Minerva leaned her head against Rich, hoping to get some sleep.**

**Rachel Oscow sat at the Geimhaven gate, waiting for Zach to return with those people for the Weinbeck. Rachel was currently dating Zach and had promised to be ready for dinner with him tonight. Rachel also hoped that these tourists would like to sample some wears from the general store she managed. Zach dissaproved of the store. He had told her that it wasn't right to be 'ecouraging the leaches'. But money was money and God knows, Rachel despretly needed money.**

**There! At last! There was a distant sound and rumbling and clattering and Zach's bus came into view on the slope.**

**Rachal watched the old 'monstrosity', as Zach called it, slide into park in the icy lot just inside the gate.**

**There was a sharp '_clang!_' as he door opened and the guests began to dismount. Among them, Rachel found that they were the usual lot. Touriosty, definitely. Flashy, some. She let them walk right past her, chattering amongst themselves. Making friends with each other, it seemed. There was one person with a rather fancy camera, with which she was snapping pictures of the mountain landscape, the village buildings, and the shiloute of the Weinbeck atop Mount Rancour. There was a young man with this woman, posing in some of her shots and taking pictures of her with a little digital camera of his own.**

**Last to step out of the bus was Zach, "Follow me." he said quite simply to the group. He looked rather sullen until his eyes fell on Rachel in the back. He gave her a little smile as he lead the tourists through the village.**

**"Oh, Chris! Look at those lovely porticos!" Kathy pointed to some worn stone arches in the town square. She proceeded to take several photos in black-and-white mode to hang in her classroom.**

**"Kathy, let me carry your bag." Chris said to her. Oh, dear, the boy was so sweet, sometimes!**

**"Oh, I can manage." she said kindly, "You go and socialize. Meet some of the others."**

**Chris nodded and said, "Sure. If you need anything, call me."**

**"Certainly."**

**Kathy hung back of the group to take more shots while Chris stepped over to one of the ladies: a woman so heavily bundled up that he wondered how she was able to move.**

**"Hi." he greeted her, she turned suddenly and said back, "Hello."**

**"I'm Chris. And you are?"**

**"Gloria."**

**Chris noted that she was dragging a wheeled suitcase in one hand and held a large duffel bag in the other.**

**"May I help you with that?" he asked.**

**"Thanks." she said, handing him the duffel.**

**Chris noticed that, as she followed him, she cast her eyes towards the big, blonde guy in front of the group.**

**Chris didn't blame her. The fairer sex had never been very friendly with him. Sure, he wasn't that bad looking, but he was more of a bookworm than anything else.**

**He attempted on small-talk with Gloria but she was still staring at the man.**

**Hmph. Just his luck.**

**Ben Hastings stayed to the front of the party, eager to get to the hotel where there was said to be a weight-room. Even in a season when one was meant to eat and lounge, working out was still formost in his mind. This vacation was the urge of some of his buddies in Colorado. They said he needed a break.**

**Well, there were some sexy girls on the trip, that was sure! There was the olive-skinned chick with the twin brother; she was great to look at but seemed too busy talking with some uptight older lady. He saw that black-haired girl, the oldest of three kids, he heard her telling the photographer lady. She was alright looking but seemed a bit too stressed out by something. There was another girl, pulling a little dog along on a leash. She was goregous but seemed to be engaged to that outright douche decked out in Tommy Hillfiger. There was also the girl he had scared at the train station. She was kinda pretty, but a little too scared-looking. Also, it didn't help that she kept staring at him. The last girl in the group under the age of forty was that blonde in the black coat. She seemed to be local because she was speaking to the too-suave-to-exist guy next to her in German.**

**Ben just hoped he had a chance to tap _someone _this week.**

**Emilia clung to Rudi's hand. It wasn't really out of affection. More that the village was built on a steep hill and the very roads themselves seemed angled to go upwards.**

**"Where the hell is that hotel?" she whispered to her husband.**

**"On top that mountain. Rancour or something."**

**"It's up _there_?" Emilia pointed at the peak in horror, "We're walking up there?"**

**"No." The bus-driver who was leading them turned to her. He continued to speak in uneven Italian, "A launch will take you to the hotel."**

**"Launch? What kind of launch?" Emilia asked nervously.**

**"You'll see." the man shrugged, clearly enjoying himself.**

**Gerard Dietrich sat in his chair, sipping a cup of hot lagar. The spirit warmed him up well seeing that the gondola station was drafty and didn't employ steam heat.**

**He knew he was to be expecting this year's Christmas party to arrive at noon. He just wished he was paid more. He had worked at the hotel since it had opened seven years ago and himself had to pay by moving from his home in Vienna and living in Geimhaven. He used to like reading the morning paper and watching the news on the TV he had had in his living room. There was no newpaper in Geimhaven and TV was an expensive luxury here.**

**He heard footsteps coming up the drive to the station and hid the lagar behind a file cabinet.**

**"Come in!" he called.**

**The door opened and that Zaccarias boy entered with the party of about seventeen.**

**"_Guten afton._" he nodded amicably. He repeated the statement in English and again in Spanish and again in Italian as his contract required him to do.**

**"Eight to a gondola." he instructed, gesturing to two top-of-the-line enclosed gondolas. He repeated the command in German and once more in his other required languages.**

**Zaccarias gave them all a half-hearted wave and left.**

**The guests had already begun filing into the two gondolas when Gerard realized that they had one too many guests than the weight restrictions would allow.**

_**'But,'**_** Gerard thought, ****_'it's just a one person difference. What could happen?'_**

**In the first gondola that had set out, Selia was sitting with her parents, Walter, Joyce, Roger, and that brother and sister. The gondola operator had been a bit upset that there were an uneven number of them, which would unbalance the cords. He had relented, though, and had sent them off. The others were going behind them in the second car while the operator stood in the station, moving dials and pulling levers that caused the cars to move up the sturdy wires toward the top of Mount Rancour.**

**"Look, honey! There's the hotel!" she pointed out the window, directing Walter's gaze to the approaching Hotel Weinbeck.**

**"Oh, it's beautiful!" she gasped.**

**Indeed, it was. The Weinbeck was a five floor manor-like building. Hewn of stone, with decoritive paneling in dark wood and picture windows looking out on the mountains.**

**"You're gonna love this week." Walter kissed her, "You're really gonna love it."**

**"I know I will." she smiled, ignoring the dissaproving look her father was giving him from across the car.**

**In the corner, Roger was talking to the male of the strangers who was telling him about how he was planning to have his new book published, Roger was feigning intrest. The writer's sister was talking to Selia's mom about what they were planning to do this week. Joyce was sitting next to Selia's dad and talking awkwardly with him.**

**Selia hoped that her father would learn to love Walter, and Joyce would learn to love her. She was going to get married in a matter of months! She couldn't have her in-laws looking coldly at each other for the rest of her life!**

**Lois looked around her at the other people in the gondola, That wealthy couple sat across from her, not socialzing with themselves or any of the others. Next to her was that ferrety girl who always looked frightened, bless her. In the corner was that enormous and ravishingly handsome man and in the other corner the blonde woman and her friend sat. By the window, the nice boy was helping the older lady tack pictures of the mountains from out the window. Lois had never been in such an exotic setting before. Much less, surrounded by such exotic people! Her son was right, she _did _need a vacation.**

**She just hoped she would enjoy it.**

**Igor Weiss bustled through the halls of the Weinbeck Hotel, making final preparations for the arrival of the guests. His cheif of staff: Hilderegarde Vishtko was organizing the maids and porters to ready the luggage carts and make sure the beds were all proper. The head chef, Hans Toblar, was directing the rest of the kitchen staff in preparing the welcome banquet. Igor himself had the distinction of greeting the Christmas guests. This was the fifth annual Christmas party held at the hotel and he was hoping everything would go well as it had the previous times.**

**He heard a faint '_bzzz'_ come from the gondola port.**

**Like the wind, Igor dashed down the stairs and through the back kitchen into the little room that served as the landing point for Gerard Dietrich's gondolas.**

**The first car had already slid gently in and Igor opened the door.**

**Out came a group of eight people, most of whom seemed to already know each other.**

**"Welcome, welcome, welcome!" Igor greeted, arms spread wide, "Welcome to the Weinbeck Hotel! I trust you all had a pleasent journey?"**

**"It was very nice, thank you." remarked an elegant older lady, shaking his hand, "I'm Minverva Lewis. My husband, duaghter and I booked the family suite."**

**Igor was a bit put off by how the woman cut straight to business but nodded and said, "Ah, yes! The Lewis'. Your room is ready. Just step into the the lobby and a porter will meet you there."**

**"Thank you." said a man, probably Minerva's husband. The family of three walked off, the young woman kissing another man before she left, pulling a little beagle behind her.**

**There was another buzzing noise and the next car slid in.**

**Igor once again opened the door and repeated his welcome speech to the new arrivals. This time, the one to reply to his 'pleasent journey' remark was a plump woman with a camera around her neck.**

**The woman said, "Oh, it was beutiful! The view was stunning! You don't know how many panormas I was able to shoot!"**

**Igor stared, "You took pictures of the mountains?"**

**"Yes."**

**"To do that you would have had to open the window."**

**"I did."**

**"You leaned out of the window?"**

**"Sure did!"**

**Igor shuffled his feet and said, "Very well, then!" If you would all please go to the lobby, your luggage will be brought to your rooms by a porter."**

**The group walked off, Igor being grateful to everything that that woman hadn't fallen out the gondola window.**

**He just couldn't afford a lawsuit.**

**Maria Bernadine strode up Geimhaven's high street, preparing for the second interview with her subject. In her mind, she went over all that she had retained last week, speaking with local World War II hero, Ernst Reynolds. He had fought on Hitler's army in the war and had been responsible for countless Allied deaths on the battlefeild. He had recieved the Third Reich's most prestigous honor: The Black Skull, for being one of three surviviors of an English seige on the Nazi outpost that had been stationed in Geimhaven. Of those three survivors, only Herr Reynolds was still alive and nearing the age of one hundred. Maria had been sent from Berlin to interview him on his apparent anti-Semetic, anti-Black and anti-Asian ideals. The man was said to be near raving and incredibly adverse to change. He had, in the eighties, been responsible for the assault of several Jewish missionaires who were staying at the local inn, which he had also burnt down. He was convicted and sent to jail for some time after this. This was all Maria knew. She supposed it would make a fine, fifth page headline: 'LUNATIC NAZI SYMPHAISER HATES EVERYONE'.**

**Maria would've taught her first assignment abroad would be more interesting than this.**

**She walked up to the little cottage on the edge of town and knocked.**

**The door was answered by a woman in her late sixties whom Maria had met on her last trip. She was Herr Renald's wife, Geraldine.**

**She looked at her, smiled, and said, "Hello again, Maria. Ernst has been waiting for you."**

**Maria couldn't help but roll her eyes. Herr Reynolds was old enough to be Geraldine's mother. Not to mention, that last time Maria had met him, he was shockingly unaware of his wife, instead preferring to stare at Maria's chest.**

**Maria allowed herself to be led into the house and into the little room that was where Herr Reynold resided.**

**Like last time, he was clad in his filthy white nightshirt, tucked in bed, and smoking a pipe as though he wasn't ninety-eight years old, and didn't need to worry about getting lung cancer.**

**"Good evening, Herr Reynold." she said softly, sitting down in a little stool and taking out her note-pad and pen,**

**"Ah! The bitch has returned." Herr Reynolds clapped his hands.**

**Maria sighed. This wasn't going to be fun.**

**Zach stepped into his workshop, looking for his tools. Just his luck that his bus had completely broken down shortly after arriving at Geimhaven. The radio was out of sync, the engine was faulty and the suspension needed to be checked.**

**There was a knock on the door.**

**"It's open!" Zach called in German.**

**The door opened and Rachel entered.**

**Zach kissed her, "Thank you for being patient with me. It's just that I had to work this morning."**

**"I understand." she said, "You could make it up to me. Dinner at my house. Nine o'clock sharp."**

**"I'll be there."**

**"And I'll be turned on. _All _ the way on."**

**"Now you're just making me excited."**

**"Think of it as an early Christmas gift."**

**"I can't wait."**

**"Well I won't tempt you any more. See you tonight."**

**She blew him an air-kiss and walked off, leaving Zach in the best mood he'd been in all week.**

**Rudi sat in a corner of the lounge, smoking his pipe.**

**Most of his family thought him as very Victorian in that he smoked from a pipe and not cigarettes like his cousins and brothers. Rudi liked to think that it made him look sophistocated.**

**Emilia entered, "Rudi, are you going to tour the village with me?"**

**Rudi turned to see his wife wearing her 'outing clothes'. These clothes were a pair of too-tight walking pants, Gucchi boots and a little black running vest.**

**"Actually, Emilia, I was going to socialize."**

**"You have plenty of time to meet people, later!" she pouted, "Besides, they have some absolutely stellar cigar shops in town. I might get you a pack on my treat."**

**Rudi sighed, that was tempting. His cigar money usually went into Emilia's clothes budjet. It would be nice to have some money to himself for once.**

**"Okay, then. Let me get my coat."**

**"See how nice it is to coopererate?" Emila smiled.**

**Rudi rolled his eyes. To Emilia, 'cooperating' was him helping her get what _she _wanted.**

**Joyce paced the lentgh of the den in the suite that she and her brothers were occupying. Walter had gone to the ballroom with Selia's family to do something or other. So far, the only member of Selia's family that she liked was Mrs. Lewis. She seemed to be just as stressed out as she was, with a family to provide for by herself. She had spoken to Mr. Lewis on the ride up the mountain and from what she had heard, she could fairly comclude that he depended on his wife to support the family. Mr. Lewis had been repeatedly dropped into bankruptcy, his wife had rescued him. Mr. Lewis had been fired five times, each time his wife got him a new job.**

**Well, Joyce also liked Selia, even though she felt that she was stealing her brother from her.**

**Walter was pretty much Joyce's best friend. Roger was nice, but he was always absrobed in enjoying himself and himself only.**

**Speak of the devil, Roger walked in at that very moment.**

**"Sis, where's my razor?"**

**"Have you checked your backpack?"**

**"No."**

**"Well, go look."**

**Roger turned to go but looked back to her, "Hey, you're not still made about Walter and I ditching you on the train, are you?"**

**"No, Roger. I'm fine. Now, go and have fun." she gave him a small smile, feeling more like a mother than ever.**

**"Thanks, sis."**

**Roger walked back to his room.**

**Zach rummaged in the loft of his workshop, looking for his toolkit.**

**He needed to fix his bus's toner and give it an oil-change. Then, of course, he had to find time to get dressed for Rachel.**

**But the idea of seeing Rachel sped him up in his work. He knew that she was always as excited to be with him and he was to be with her.**

**Suddenly, Zach heard a sharp sound. Something like a crazed '_whirr!'_**

**The sound was coming from downstairs.**

**"Hello?" Zach called, "Someone down there?"**

**He knew it wasn't a robber. For one thing, there hadn't been any real crime in Geimhaven in years and for another, he didn't own anything worth stealing.**

**"Rachel?" he started down the ladder. Perhaps Rachel had left her purse.**

**When he reached the back of the shop, the noise reached ear-piercing levels.**

**Zach moved to the storage room and tentativly opened the door**

**Standing in the shadows of the room, was a figure whom Zach could not see clearly.**

**What he could see, though, was the powersaw that the figure was holding arc through the air and strike Zach's right arm, the arm that was holding the door open, at the elbow.**

**In an instant, Zach knew nothing but pain. He saw his fore-arm splayed on the ground, he felt the blood spray out of the remaining stump and splatter over the walls.**

**'Wait! Please!" Zach begged the figure, "What are you doing?" He tried to push the person back with his left arm, but in the process lost that as well.**

**Zach had by now lost so much blood that he collapsed on the ground, helpless to fight back as the figure, who was just begining to become apparent, ripped the saw through his neck with a sickining _'KA-THUNK!'_**

**Zach couldn't even manage a scream, just a type of groan, as his neck snapped in two.**

**Nick looked out on the mountains, his laptop on the deck table in front of his and a cup of hot coffee in his hand. He had to finish the last chapter of his novel: _Snakes and Lions _before he got back from vacation. Frances had said she could publish it if it weren't complete crap. Nick really needed to get his first book onto the shelves. If he could do that as least, surely he would be contracted by a major publisher.**

**He didn't want to hurt Frances's feelings but her self-managed publishing company was barely managing to stay afloat.**

**He was thinking of one day signing a book-deal with Harper Collins or perhaps Penguin. _Those _would get him started.**

**The balcony door opened and Frances walked out to him.**

**"Nick, do you wanna go down to the village?" she asked him, "We could get a cup of coffee."**

**Nick looked down at the cup he was already holding and said, "I'm all set, sis. Besides, you said you won't be able to publish _Snakes and Lions _any later then New Year's.**

**"But we just got here!" Frances nudged him, "Dinner's at eight and we've plenty of time to see the sights. Besides, I don't want you missing out just because of the deadline."**

**"But you told me..."**

**"That deadline only exits so it can be on the market in time for the after-Christmas discounts."**

**"Discounts?" Nick was shocked.**

**"Nick, newly released novels never cell at normal debut price unless they're from a major publisher. Nick, face it. You're not Agatha Christie and I'm not Little Brown. If you want yo get big, you have to start small."**

**Nick was insulted. His own sister thought he wasn't good enough for standard prices!**

**"Frances, _Snakes and Lions _is gonna sell millions! It'll be a hit!"**

**"Maybe so! But not right off the bat! The best books take some time to be discovered!"**

**But Nick wasn't hearing any of it. He closed his lap-top and marched back inside.**

**"Nick, wait!" Frances called after him.**

**She hadn't meant to hurt him. He was new to the business. Young. Impetuous. Frances loved her brother and she just wanted the best for him. She thought about going after him, but realized that that would make him angrier.**

**She would just have to wait.**

**"Ready for show-time?" Eli asked her.**

**Yvette looked at him.**

**"Yes. My career starts tonigt, Eli. Nothing can go wrong."**

**She spoke definitely, as though she was going to make sure that nothing _did _go wrong.**

**"Your outfit's downstairs."**

**"Not too revealing, I hope?" she asked. Yvette didn't need any revealing clothes with the past she'd had.**

**"You'll be covered as a Quaker. But not nearly as plain."**

**Yvette fidgited. He was flirting with her now. She hated that.**

**Well, she hadn't always hated it. There was a time, not too long ago, when Eli had not worked with her. She had worked for him, for one night at least. They had both enjoyed the night very much and in the end they had begun to date. That though, quickly turned sour.**

**Eli was a hot-blooded man. When he had an urge he could not resist it.**

**Yvette had learned the hard way which is why they were only on business-speaking terms.**

**"I'll get ready." she told him, "I'll be out of the bathroom in a second."**

**She turned on her heel and strode into the bathroom.**

**Erzebeth Flaton bundled herself up in coat and shawl and took off across the high street fot her nightly outing.**

**Erzebeth had lived in Geimhaven for all her seventy-four years and was the most well known and most-liked person in the village.**

**The air was bitter tonight: friged and icy cold. The sunset though, was to die for, purple and pink and midnight blue thrown up against the white and grey mountain-side. The clouds were thin and bright violet with Mount Rancour standing center in it, looking like God's throne perched on top of the world.**

**Erzebeth saw this every single night, but she was still just as facinated by it as she had been many years ago.**

**She started her walk, not noticing the tall blonde woman striding toward her.**

**When she did notice the woman, Erzebeth turned and said, "Good evening, Maria."**

**Maria Bernadine smiled and replied, "Good evening, Frau. Flaton. How was your day?"**

**"Very good, thank you."**

**Erzebeth felt bad for the girl, she had very few friends in Geimhaven as they all treated the reporter and a disease that would contaminate their quiet, reserved way of life.**

**"You're going to bed?"**

**"Yes. The apartment is starting to feel like home."**

**"I am glad to here that. How was your talk with Herr Reynald?"**

**Maria hesistated, "He doesn't like me very much. I'm afraid I won't have anything for my article if he continus to be so secretive."**

**"That's a shame. Herr Reynald though, is not liked by the community. His acts of hatred towards people of different color and creed have earned him many enemies. He seems to think that the old war was never won."**

**"I'm afraid he gives his wife a lot of trouble."**

**Erzebeth's face darkened, "Poor Geraldine had never had time to socialize. Ernst had her waiting on him hand and foot. The man's gravely ill pyshically. Probably mentally ill as well, if you ask me."**

**"I don't think it's very fair. He seems to hate her."**

**"It isn't fair at all. Unfortunately, a divorce is a scandel seldom seen here. Geraldine will have be ostricized."**

**"Well, have a nice walk, Frau. Flaton."**

**"And you have a nice rest, Maria."**

**The two women went their seperate ways along the road.**

**Selia poured some chicken puree into Eddy's bowl.**

**"Honey, are you dressed?" her mother called from her own room in the suite.**

**"Yes, Mom!" she called back, "But I'm not sure if the almond dress is appropriate for tonight. Should I go with the white? Or the blue?"**

**Her Mom came out to her, wearing her elegant black gown.**

**"The blue looks lovely on you, honey. It brings out your eyes."**

**"Thanks, mom!" Selia nodded, spreading the blue gown across the bed. **

**"Eddy! Food, boy!" she called.**

**Little Eddy trotted in from the bathroom and buried his face in his bowl.**

**"I can't wait for tonight!" Selia twirled in a circle.**

**"You and Walter are so beautiful together." Mom assured her, "You'll be the happiest couple on earth."**

**Selia took her mom's hand and grasped it. She knew that Mom had regrets for marrying Dad. That the only thing mom got out of the marriage was her.**

**She smiled and kissed her mom. In that kiss, she carried reassurence and comfort.**

**She hoped it would be enough.**

**Ben stepped into the dining room, wearing his plain dinner jacket and rumpled trousers.**

**He was the only person there except the frightened girl. The one was kept staring at him. He decided that, since there weren't any other women present yet, he would sit next to her.**

**"Hi. Gloria, right?" he sat down next to her, to her apparent delight.**

**"Hi."**

**"I'm Ben." he withdrew a cigarette case, "Can I offer you a smoke?"**

**"I don't smoke." she smiled faintly, "Knowing me, I'd probably set fire to myself."**

**She looked as though she immediately regretted saying that.**

**"That's cool. They have those electric cigarettes, now."**

**"There're _electric cigarettes_?" she was in shock.**

**"Yeah, I found out about them on Google. They probably suck, though."**

**"Oh." she looked pretty awkward but was relieved to see that others were filing in.**

**Walter took Selia's hand and led her out of the elevator where an enormous woman dressed all in black stood with a table of programs.**

**"Good evening." she said in heavily accented English, "I am Frau. Vishtko, the cheif of staff. If you have any problems during your week here, please see me."**

**She handed them each a program and let them pass into the grandly decorated dining room.**

**A great Christmas tree rose in the center of the room, adorned with sparkling baubles of green and red, silver wreathes, knots of holly and topped off with a ceramic angel maniquin.**

**The tables were centered around the tree and facing the stage on which a marvelously realistic Nativity set, over with was a glittering silver star.**

**"Where do you want to sit?" Walter asked Selia. "Anywhere's fine, so long as our families don't bust a fuse."**

**They sat at a table directly in front of the stage, "Do you think I should've brought Eddy down here?"**

**"Nah. He'll only bother the others."**

**Selia smiled playfully, "He can't help it if he's a bit mischievous. He's young."**

**"He learns from his mom."**

**Selia chuckled and kissed him on the cheek, "It's not my fault if I get a little rowdy with you. What other woman has a god for a fiance?"**

**Yvette looked down at her dress for the performance. Eli hadn't been lying: it covered her. What Eli didn't say was that the dress would make her look like a Christmas elf with cleavage. The dress was scarlet, with a buttoned bodice and the edges fringed with white fluff. "I look ridiculous, Eli." she told him as she prepared to come on stage.**

**"You look lovely." he held her close. Annoyed, Yvette pushed him away, not-so-gently. Weiss, the manager, bustled forward, "You're on, Fraulein." he told her.**

**Yvette sighed and stepped out onto the stage, standing in front of the Nativity. In the corner of the stage, a hotel staff member sat at a piano and nodded to Yvette to start.**

**She lookd into the crowd and saw that most everyone was already present, waiting to be served. The pianist began to play and Yvette started to sing:**

**"_Hark the herald Angels sing, Glory to the newborn King._" she began the first song on the list.**

**"_Peace on Earth and mercy mild. God and sinners reconciled._" she was about to proceed to the next line when someone flashed a camera at her, nearly throwing off her concentration.**

_**"Damn tourists." **_**she thought to herself**

**Kathy snapped a fine picture of the singer on the stage, replendent in the decorations.**

**She was sitting with Chris and the school-teacher from Maine: Lois.**

**"She has a beautiful voice, doesn't she?" Lois remarked.**

**"Oh, yes, it's wonderful." Kathy nodded. Chris sat in his chair and remained still, occasionally raising his eyes to look towards the kitchen and then again to look at the stage.**

**"Are you alright, Chris?" Kathy asked him, Chris smiled and nodded, "I'm fine, Kathy."**

**"If you want to change your seat, you're more than welcome to."**

**"No, Kathy, I'm fine."**

**But Chris wasn't thinking about changing his seat. He was thinking about Gloria Miller.**

**Hans Toblar, the head chef at the Weinbeck, was directing the wait-staff to bring up the appitizer course.**

**"Quickly, you oafs!" he commanded in his strong voice, "They're liable to complain if the foo doesn't get to them in five minutes!"**

**Hans hated tourists. He hated the Weinbeck in general. Being a local man, Hans had only taken the job to get him on his feet after he lost his job as sous-chef as the old inn that Ernst Reynald had burnt down all those years ago.**

**"Hurry, hurry!" he barked as the appetizer trays were carried out to the dining room.**

**He just wanted to hop down to the bar.**

**"_Christmas time. Miseltoe and wine. Children singing, Christian rhyme._" Yvette trilled the notes of _Miseltoe and Wine_. She felt an uncomfortable forboding as she observed Eli standing off-stage, staring at her with a sick expression of wanting upon his face. As she continued singing, Yvette taught back to her previous lifestyle.**

**She had been a stripper, a high-end stripper. The money had been good and she had lived well. She hadn't felt demeaned or put down until she met Eli. And Eli had single-handedly ruined her life.**

**She was brought out of her reverie by applause from the audience.**

**She bowed her head slightly and readied for her next piece.**

**Gloria fidigted in her seat. Several people had come onto the floor and bad started to dance. Gloria wished she could, but no one had asked her, and she was too shy to ask anyone herself. She felt someone come up behind her and turned, seeing Chris, that nice boy who had talked to her on the way over.**

**"Hey." he smiled, "You look lonely."**

**Gloria blushed, "I'm just looking around."**

**"Want to dance?"**

**"Oh!" Gloria felt her cheeks burn and put on a sheepish smile, "I guess so."**

**"Cool." He grinned, leading her onto the floor.**

**Roger stood by the Christmas tree, sipping a whiskey and soda. He was scanning the crowd for a girl but no one looked very interesting. Well, _Selia _looked interesting but she was his brother's fiance, and all that other crap. Roger liked to dally on the fact that _he _had seen Selia first. Had even gone out with her for a few weeks. But Selia hadn't returned the advance and had fallen for his brother instead. Roger didn't mind, Walter deserved a woman that liked him.**

**He saw the girl, the twin sister of Nick, the guy he'd talked to on the gondola.**

**"Yo!" he called to her. The girl turned, allowing Roger to fully see her beautiful body, encased in a tight gold and orange dress.**

**"Yeah?" she asked, her eyes lighting up playfully.**

**"What's your name?"**

**"Frances." she replied, saying it with a _kiss _at the end instead of a _sis_.**

**"I'm Roger."**

**"Wanna dance?"**

**"Sure."**

**She smiled and extended her hand to him.**

**Roger stared at the extended limb, not sure if he was supposed to kiss it or shake it.**

**He decided to just get on with it and twirl her onto the dance-floor.**

**The dance began.**

**"_Oh, night divine!_" Yvette belted out her final song, her arms stretched out before her.**

**"_Oh night. Oh night divine._"**

**She relaxed her posture and bowed, to a fine amount of applause.**

**"Good night everyone!" she waved to the crowd as she stepped backstage and directly into Eli's arms.**

**"Eli?" she snapped in part surprise and part indignation, "Let go of me!"**

**"I just wanted to congratulate you." he said smoothly, "You sang like an angel tonight."**

**"Just let go!" Yvette wrenched out of his arms and stormed out into the lobby.**

**She was about to summon the elevator when Eli stole up behind her and grabbed her arm.**

**"Just give me one more chance!" he said, hard and steely, with a slight pleeding edge.**

**"Eli, you had your chance and you blew it!" Yvette said, trying to keep her voice regulated, "Just leave me be." she tried pulling away from him but her agent clasped her head in his hands and pulled her to his lips.**

**Yvette tried to struggle against his hold but he was too strong for her. She compensated, though, by kneeing him in the groin.**

**He groaned loudly.**

**"AND NEVER TOUCH ME AGAIN!" Yvette roared. She flinched a bit when she noticed that the woman at the call desk was staring at her and several of the guests were peering through the open doors of the dining room.**

**"Just go way, Eli. Just go away." She turned around and stepped into the elevator, trying to ignore the tears of rage cascading down her face.**

**Rachel sat at her dining table, clad in a titalating black evening gown. She had waited and waited for Zach to come. Had watched the roast go cold and the candles melt down. **

**Resigning herself to the fact that Zach would never show up, Rachel pinched each candle flama out one by one and sighed.**

**She had thought she and Zach had something.**

**Eli stormed to the gondola port, wanting to go down to Geimhaven and get a drink after his public humiliation. He found the door locked and resigned to the idea that the gondolas were out of operation at nighttime. He decided then, to take a walk in the evergreen forest that graced the top of Mount Rancour. Stopping ever so briefly in his room to fetch his black overcoat and fedora from his closet and his pack of cigars from his dresser.**

**The night air was cold, and the air smelled fresh and crisp with the promise of more snow. The trees in the forest were grown very close together and did not have much snow between them. Eli thought to himself, _Peaceful place. Good spot to think. To think about how I've ruined everything._**

**He had liked Yvette. His seduction of her might have been considered too fierce and his various attempts to feel her up could have been called zealous.**

**But Eli had not meant any harm. He was just a tad impetous. He figured that this was not a proper excuse, but, still, he felt bad for her.**

**He stopped when he believed he was far enough into the wood and leaned against a tree trunk, withdrawing a cigar from his case. Striking a match, Eli touched it to the tip of his cigar.**

**Indeed, it was quite shocking when the cigar burst into flames. Giving a cry of fright and surprise, Eli dropped the burning cigar, stamping it out in the dirt.**

**Eli gave a sigh of relief, wondering what had caused the cigar to implode. But then, he felt a warm sensation on his leg: his pant cuff was on fire!**

**Screaming in horror, Eli shook his leg and dropped to the ground, trying to stamp out the flame. But the fire still burnt, scorching Eli's left leg and spreading up over him.**

**Eli was now in a state of hysterics, running through the trees as smoke and fire consumed him. He tried to make his way back to the Weinbeck to get help, but in his frenzy, he had lost all sense of direction. Eli, felt a small surge of relief, even in his madness, as he noticed the trees begining to space out around him.**

**Little did he notice, that he was charging right off of Mount Rancour.**

**If anyone had been watching from Geimhaven village, they would have seen a miniscule red dot, perhaps have heard a faint cry, as something plummeted into the jagged rocks in the valley below them.**

**A/N: It begins. Two people are dead. Countless remain. The week is just begining. R&R, folks! Also, I would like to point out that two characters in this story are based on us Plot Murderers! Those who are used to our stories shouldn't have much trouble guessing.**

**Chapter 2 Coming Tomorow, the title shall be 'Ding!' Make of it what you will.**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2, Ding!

Disclaimer: Harper's Island isn't mine, this plot, these characters and this setting is, though.

A/N: I am quite sorry for not being able to keep to the update schedule. We were off for the holidays rather suddenly. Though, I'm pleased to announce that from now on, updates will be posted every Friday, as with our other series. This chapter was incredibly fun to write and I'm realizing how enjoyable it's gonna be to do this.

Enjoy!

The sun rose on Mount Rancour late that Tuesday morning. It found Kathy Smith already showered and dressed, packing her camera equipment and fruit snacks, preparing for a day in the village.

She went to the other bed in her room and shook its occupent gently, "Ready to rise, Chris?" she asked.

Chris stirred and woke, stretching a bit, "Good morning Kathy." he said wearily.

"Get the sleep out of you, hun! We've got a big day today!"

"Sure thing, Kathy." Chris stumbled out of bed and walked off to the bathroom.

"I'll meet you in the dining room!" he called to her.

"Should I ask the manager about resteraunts?"

"I think so. Whatever you want to do."

Kathy nodded, Chris was a very polite young man. He was sure that one day someone would take as much a liking to him as she did.

Yvette lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. She had gotten very little sleep last night, thinking of the mistake she had made. She had hated Eli for what he had done, but he was her agent and her only associate.

Who else would help her career? Was it even possible that she _would _ever take off as a singer?

Would she have to resort back to those _lowlives_? Stripping naked for them? Having bits of money tossed at her? Feeling horrible about herself every day and every night?

No! It wasn't worth it. Yvette would fine a way to take off.

She was determined.

"Richard, get up!" Minerva called her husband, "Selia's already gone to breakfast. Have you seen Eddy?"

Rich opened his eyes and looked at his wife, clad in her midnight blue dressing gown. "That dog's more trouble than he's worth." he grumbled.

Minnie rolled her eyes, "Just help me find him. Please. He'd never survive lost in the mountains. Not to mention how distraught Selia would be."

"You know, in my mind, it's about time we let out daughter grow up. She had to experience loss somehow."

"She's getting married in May!" Minnie became defensive.

"No better time to learn that nothing gold stays."

"You know, randomily quoting poetry doesn't automatically make me side with you."

"It did in college."

"And that girl didn't know all the shit she was getting herself into."

Rich lept out of bed, "Minnie, the way you talk about it, you've hated me from the moment you said 'I do'. What's the point of harping on about it? If you want to be free of me, by all means, take off!"

"Shut your mouth, Rich." Minnie advanced on him in that indimating way she had, "You might delude yourself into thinking you're the bread-winner in this family, but Selia and I know different."

"What in hell are you talking about?"

"Who worked nights to pay Selia through college?" she was getting dangerous now, "Who got you that job at the notary when you were fired from your 'consigment business'? Who in the name of God wiped your ass day and night, showed love to our daughter, fed the dogs and worked four jobs?"

"This is too early, Minnie! Save it for tonight!"

Minnie sucked in breath and said what she'd been dying to make public for months, "In June, after Selia and Walter are together, it's over."

"What?"

"It's over, Rich. I'm moving on. Selia and I talked about it a few weeks ago. I was waiting for real proof that you were finally fed up. That proof has come. You can keep the house. Keep the TV. Keep your goddamn pool table. Just leave me alone."

Rich gaped for a few moments, before saying, "If that's how it's gonna be, Minnie, I will leave. We get back home, you can get out of the house. I'll walk out of your life."

"Rich. Nothing would make us happier."

"I'm sure Selia would miss me."

"Believe me, she won't." Minnie said finally.

_That _was what got to Rich. The idea that his own daughter wouldn't miss him. That ate away at his soul.

"Well," he said coldly, "we'll just have to see about that."

Hans sat in his post, presiding over the kitchen like a lord over his serfs. Breakfast was just being finished and they were nearly out of bacon. Hans was expecting a new order of pork fat from the local butcher's the next day. He looked at his pet tabby, Frau. Bilekenau. She had, earlier in the day, befriended a little puppy that belonged to one of the guests. Hans felt a small surge of warmth pass through him as he thought of how the two beasts has so quickly become friends. His cat, old in years, and the dog, quite young. He thought of the story of the lion and the lamb and felt a sudden bit of philosophical wisdom as he pondered the true meaning of Christmas.

This moment was interuppted though, by Hildregarde Vishtko storming in, stack of menus in hand.

"Yes, Hilda?" he asked, sure she would begin her usual tirade.

"Herr Weiss tells me there's been a printing mistake in the breakfast schedule." she said crisply, "There will be no bacon served this morning. Rather, there will be pork links, and potatoes."

Hans couldn't help but curse very loudly in German at this news.

"Woman, we're practically out of of bacon! We just cooked it by the droves for this morning! Breakfast service begins in twenty minutes and the sausage will have to be defrosted!"

"That is not my concern, Toblar. The kitchen is your forte, alongside the pub. People are my business."

"Than go and fire the person who types the menus!"

"_I _type the menus. And I favor getting my Christmas bonus this year."

Hans waited for Hilda to leave before he made a rather rude hand gesture at her back, prompting some of his sous-chefs to snigger.

Lois atirred herself in a sweater and pants for the day, eying herself in the mirror before stepping out into the corridor. She planned to spend the day in the village, as many of the others would be doing. She had heard there were some lovely people to be met and a very fine resteraunt that served the finest of local cusiene. Lois was pleased to have already made dome new friends, such as Kathy and that nice girl: Frances.

As she summoned the elevator, she found that young writer was coming to her.

"Good morning." she told him nicely, "It's Nicky, isn't it?"

"Yeah. You're Lois?"

"Yes."

They stood there awkwardly for a few moments before the elevator doors opened and they stepped inside.

As they descended to the lobby, Lois asked, "What are you planning to do today?"

"Take my laptop down to the village and write a bit at the cafe."

"Oh, the cafe! I'll be eating lunch at a resteraunt not far from there. I think." She added, not sure where the resteraunt was in relation to the cafe.

Suddenly, the elevator shuddered and grinded a bit, before stopping in the middle of the its decent.

"Oh, dear!" Lois gasped, "Are we jammed?"

"Don't know." Nick looked around, "These older elevators sometimes get all gummed up.

"Should we call for help?" Lois wavered, trying to conceal her fear.

"I don't see one of those alarm buttons." Nick informed her, examing the button panel.

Lois was just about to break down when the elevator shook again and continued to lower at a regular pace.

Lois' sigh of relief could be heard a mile away as the doors opened onto the lobby.

"Oh, thank God!" she said shakilly as they stepped out, "I thought we'd be stranded!"

Nick seemed to be trying to conceal a smile as he said, "I'll go and talk to the manager. He should know about this before he's got a law-suit as his hands."

Lois gave a tremulous laugh and made for the dining room.

Maria stepped up to the front door of the Reynald cottage for the last time. Her interview series would end today and so far, she had gleaned absolutely nothing interesting enough to put in a newspaper besides how arousing Herr Reynald seemed to fine her chest.

She knocked on the door as usual and, as usual, Geraldine Reynald opened the door.

"Good morning, Maria." she smiled faintly as she had done every other morning, "Ernst is upstairs."

As she was led to the bedroom, Maria noticed once more how tired Geraldine looked. How stressed and put out. It wasn't fair, she thought, it wasn't fair how half of this woman's life was spent slaving after a man she didn't even care for.

Herr Reynald was still sitting erect in bed. His nighshirt was spotted and his mustache was lank. His liverspots were crinkled and his eyes were ever beady.

"_Gutentagg_, bitch." he said cordially.

Maria sat on the little stool that had always been provided for her and said, "This is my last day with you, Herr Reynald."

Herr Reynald began applauding as though he had just won the lottery.

Maria continued, "And I am hoping to get as much information as possible from you for my article."

Reynald put his finger to his lip for a moment before posing the question, "Bitch, you never said what kind of people would be reading this article."

Maria paused, "All manner of people, of course. Anyone can read the paper."

"Very well, then. In that case, here is what you can put in your article."

He proceded to begin a long list of derogatory comments directed at about every race, creed and minority in creation.

Maria was not only disgusted, but also put out that this sort of thing was was Reynald did every day. She had nothing for her article and her one big chance at becoming a front-page writer on the paper was doomed.

She leaned her head on her elbow and tried to look interested, but depression just took over her.

Some Christmas this was going to be.

Rudi pulled his sweater on over his head while Emilia applied her usual two layers of foundation.

They had taken a fine evening stroll through Geimhaven the previous night and so, were planning on staying at the Weinbeck today. Emilia had heard there was a spa and sauna at the hotel and was eager to get rid of her crow's feet.

"Rudi, do these clothes look apropriate for a day indoors?" she asked him, stepping out of the bathroom in a white shirt, grey blouse and several silk shawls.

"Emilia darling, your fondness for shawls in unsurpased." Rudi sighed, putting on a mock sophisticated air, "You're going to the spa, not visiting the Pope."

"I wouldn't wear silk to see the Pope!" Emilia was shocked, "I would dress far simpler in His Holiness' presence. Satin, perhaps. Or cashmere."

Rudi rolled his eyes, he loved Emilia but her ways were dearly eating through his pockets.

"Let's go down to breakfast, dear." Emilia suggested, or rather, commanded, charging out of the room.

"Right behind you!" Rudi called after her, fumbling his way out.

"Roger, get up." Joyce nudged her hungover brother.

Roger had completely wasted himself at the welcome dinner the previous night and had promptly passed out. It had taken the combined efforts of Joyce, Walter and that big guy: Ben, to coerce and then, take Roger to bed.

"What is it, sis?" he mumbled.

"Roger, we're late for breakfast. Walter and Selia have already gone down and have left."

"How long was I out?"

"It's eleven o'clock."

"Shit! Really?"

"Yes, really. Now, get up."

"Sure. Could you pass me my swim shorts?

"Swim shorts?" Joyce stared, "It's thirty-two degrees outside!"

"I'm hitting the hot-tub today!"

"Figures." Joyce smiled, "I'll get you set up."

She allowed her brother some time to collect his senses while she rummaged through his suitcase.

Among the usual socks, pants and shirts, she found a few selections of his massive porn collection, a habit he had picked up in college, as well as a few packs of Trojans and a bottle of rum he had snuck through customs.

Joyce really did love Roger. He was just a little dangerous sometimes and Joyce believed it would one day ruin him. She suspected it had something to do with their parents' death. The loss of both their parents was hard on all three of them, but Roger had been hit especially. He had been a sophmore in college and had recieved the news through Joyce, in an e-mail.

Joyce was no pyschologist, but her theory on Roger's party-animal nature was that he had put on a mask after the tragedy. That he had tried to become a new person.

It had succeeded, all right. So much, that Joyce and Walter had come to regard Roger as a Jekyl and Hyde-type character. He was, most of the time, a rugged, drinking, horny, young man in the afterglow of graduation. To very few people, he was also a reserved, nice boy who was both book and street smart, as well as very symphatatic.

The latter personality rarely manifested itself nowadays.

Oh, how Joyce wished it would!

Gloria bundled herself as usual as she waited in the gondola port with the others who were going to the village. Breakfast had been good, if not a little late, and she had made friends with Frances Antoni, who was very nice to her and didn't seem to mind her occasional stutter and stumble.

Frances was going to the village also, as well as her brother: Nick, the two school-teachers, Chris, and the singer.

The gondolas in the port shuddered to life and the group split up into the two, as they had done the previous day.

The trip down was hell to Gloria's stomach, and the valley below was looming dangerously closer with each sway of the car.

The photographer was snapping pictures out the window again, remarking on how beutifully blue the sky was today.

In the main gondola station, the operator nodded to them with a quick 'Hello' as they went their seperate ways in Geimhaven.

Gloria decided to sit down at the local cafe.

Not knowing how to speak German, and so not knowing how to order a coffee, she just sat by a sunny window and read a travel brochure she had kept in her coat pocket.

She noticed Nick sitting on the other side of the room, typing on a lap-top.

She went to him, a little shyly, and said, "Hi."

Nick looked up, a little annoyed, and said, "Oh. Hi."

"I'm Frances' friend."

"Oh?"

"Are you writing something?"

"Yeah. It's a book."

"Frances told me you were working on an adventure novel."

"Well, that's what this is."

"What's it called?"

"_Snakes and Lions_."

"What's it about?"

"That's a secret." he gave her a little smile, "Did Frances, by any chance, tell you that she was my publisher?"

"She mentioned in passing that she ran a little business, yes."

"Did she tell you that she didn't think I could afford selling this book at new-release price? That she was planning to publish it only in paperback and was hoping to keep it at lowest possible price for its first year on the shelves?"

Gloria fidigited. Clearly, Nick didn't approve of his sister's economics.

She said, "I don't know much about how books sell, but, have you ever thought of publishing it as an e-book? You could put it on that Kindle thing."

"Kindle?" Nick seemed aghast, "I think putting something on Kindle would only make the price higher."

"But you could go for new release price on Kindle. I think. I don't know much about technology. My cell doesn't have a keyboard like everyone elses."

Nick thought for a moment, "Sit down." he gestured to a seat next to him, "I'll be you a coffee."

"Thanks." Gloria was a little giddy. A man had never bought her a drink before.

"We can talk publishing."

"But I don't know very much."

"You know more than my sister. Let's talk."

Gloria didn't really want to get involved in the conflict between the Antoni twins, but it seemed she would have to.

Besides, Nick did seem a little confused. She was sure she could at least make him more confident.

Maria adjusted herself on the stool. This was getting her nowhere. She had actually taken to just doodling on her note-pad rather than taking notes on the outlandish things Herr Reynald was saying to her.

"And on top of that!" he was continuing, "There shouldn't be any women in politics! Look at how gaudy England's gotten with their preppy queen and them putting on airs!"

Maria didn't even bother to correct him in saying that England was mainly controlled by the decisions of Parliement, in which were quite a few women.

"And these children with their phones in their pockets! One day very soon now, we'll all be trampled under-foot by idiot young people and their gadgets!"

Maria sighed, "Herr Reynald, I think we can take a break for lunch."

"Bitch, stay." he commanded her as though she were a dog at his command.

"Herr Reynald, please."

Maria said placatingly as she stood, "I am hungry."

"As am I."

"I'll call your wife to bring up your meal."

"No, no. That will not be nessecery. My hunger is not satisfied with food alone."

Maria suddenly felt a tad insecure. This peculier man, nearing the age of one-hundred. Surely he must get a tad savage in his time?

"Take off your clothes." he told her, as casually as though he were asking her to put the kettle on.

"Herr Reynald, you're not yourself."

"I am myself, bitch. Take off your clothes."

Mariia made to back away, but before she could move two steps, her arm was seized by Reynald, as he pulled her onto the bed with him.

"Let go of me!" she screamed, tring to break free without harming the frail old man.

Her attempts to wrench him off of her were futile as Reynald began tearing at her jacket, ripping open a seam in the sleeve.

The sound of the struggle must have alerted Geraldine, for she dashed into the room with a bottle of tonic.

"Ernst, let go of her!" she yelled, "Stop it!"

Geraline applied presure to Ernst's neck, allowing him to release Maria.

"Maria, a spoon, please! In the kitchen!" Geraldine gasped out, holding down her husband.

Maria nodded and dashed down the stairs, rummaging in the kitchen drawers until she withdrew a tea-spoon.

She returned to Geraldine, who took the spoon with a, 'Thank you.' and poured some of the tonic into it, shoving the spoon into Reynald's mouth.

Reynald caughed and sputtered as the restorative met his palet.

His face turned red and he convulsed, spitting out one final word, "Bitch!" before he slumped over onto his pillow.

The two women stareed in shock for a few moments, before Maria took his pulse.

"H-he's dead." she gasped.

Geraldine grew pale, "Dead?"

"Yes." Maria moved her hand over her heart, she had never seen someone die before, "He must have choked on the tonic, rather than swallowing it."

Geraldine nodded, "I-I'll call the doctor in."

She staggered out of the room, clutching the door-frame for support on the way out.

In the Geimhaven tavern: The White Stallion, Ben Hastings was completely unaware of the town's first death in years.

He was talking and laughing it up with Roger Adams. He thought Roger was alright, fun to hang out with. Could hold his drinks well. It really helped that he pointed out some of the few hot girls that Geimhaven had on offer.

"So, dude, do you live in a mansion or something?" Ben asked, curiously on hearing that the Adams' were rich.

"It's not really Heff's place. But it's big. Joyce doesn't like to to spend a lot. She thinks we should act humble. She loves charity, volunteers at the soup kitchen."

Ben laughed a bit. He hadn't looked very much at Joyce, thinking she was too tense for a Hastings relationship.

"Have you noticed that chick? The one with the writer for a brother?"

"You mean Frances?"

"Yeah. She's got a nice ass."

He looked into the corner where he noticed a conventicle of old ladies staring daggers at him.

"What're you looking at?" He challenged them.

The ladies hushed up.

Frances looked out over the whole of the Alps, standing in the belfry of the town chapel.

The view was breathtaking, stunning, even. The fresh wind blew her raven hair over her shoulders and her wool scary wound out behind her like a cape.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" asked a light voice, startling her.

Frances turned around and saw a pale girl, with dark hair and grey eyes.

"Oh! Yes, it's very nice. You're a local here?"

"Yes. My name is Rachel."

"I'm Frances."

The two shook hands.

"What is it that you do, Frances?"

"I manage a general store, here. Business is very good." she added as an answer to an unasked question.

"What do you sell?"

"Produce, grains, knitting supplies, hardware. All the things you could need, practically."

"Do you sell anything that could be cnsidered a gift?"

"That depends on who you're buying for."

"Well, my brother. I've already gotten him a gift for Christmas. But I've kinda offended him. Do you have anything to help patch things up?"

Rachel laughed, "I think the best you can do is make him something."

"I'm kinda clumsy with arts and crafts."

"Can you knit?"

"My mom could. She taught me how to a few years ago."

"I could sell you some yarn and you could make a shawl, socks, a hat. Anything, really,"

Frances thought for a moment, "I think I know just what knit."

"I'll take you to my shop."

The two new friends descended from the belfry and out into the town square.

"Eddy!" Selia called as she marched through the corridors of the Weinbeck, "Eddy, boy! Where are you?"

She finally found her dog in the ballroom. He was pawing at the face of an old tabby cat.

"Eddy, what are you doing, boy?" she looked fondly on the cute scene, fishing out her camera to take a quick shot.

She picked up her dog and carried him out of the room. Eddy was more than happy to see her, licking her face and barking happily. She met Walter in the lounge, where he was the only occupent, and kissed him.

"You found him!" Walter congratulated her playfully.

"Have the others left?"

"Your parents, Joyce, Roger. They took off."

"Great. Now we can be alone." she said, running her hand down his face.

"Honey, the dog's watching everything." Walter shifted his eyes to Eddy.

"Let's put him in bed. He's had a long day anyway. And then, we can have all the fun we want."

They got up and, Eddy at their heels, trooped off towards the Lewis family suite.

Igor sat at his desk, exhausted. It was half-past noon and he had so much to do. That morning, one of the guests had informed him that the elevator was faulty. Igor would have to call in Zacharias Oscow, the village handy-man, to patch up the mess. Hans Toblar had also complaned, saying that Hildregarde Vishtko was being lax in her typing of the breakfast menues, leading to a batch of fresh bacon being stored in freezer. Running a hotel was difficult to begin with. It was even more so if it was the finest establishment in miles, situated in the middle of nowhere.

The Christmas party was always hard. The people, the meals, the attractions, the decorating. But it was worth it. To make someone's holiday. To make people happy. To give people a week off from the outside world. _That _was a reward in itself.

Frau. Vishtko then entered, "Herr Weiss, Toblar is threatining to quit again."

"I'd like to see him do that." Igor quipped, "We're the one place in the area that can cater to his talents." he paused, waiting for Hilda to laugh at his pun. She didn't.

"Go about your business, Hilda. And stop terrorizing the staff."

Hilda snorted and stormed out.

"Try to keep your temper!" he couldn't help calling after her.

At present, he had a of work to do. Best not procrastinate.

Wilhelm Carris lead his one deputy, Oscar Gobler, into the Reynald cottage, where the woman of the house sat in a corner, pale and sullen. The qiuet, sandy-haired woman who had opened the door for them introduced herself as Maria Bernadine.

"We haven't moved the body." she said, almost in a whisper, "He's in his bed."

Will nodded and gestured to Oscar, "Make an examination." he told him.

Oscar ascended the stairs. Will sat across from Frau. Reynald, Maria provided him with a cup of tea, as she did with the woman.

"I'm an so sorry for your loss, Frau. Reynald." he told her, "He was a," he paused to think of a word to describe Ernst Reynald, "influential member of this comunity. I'd like to ask you some questions."

Frau. Reynald gave a little caugh and said, "Feel free to, Herr Constable."

"What exactly happened this morning?" he looked at Maria, "You may participate as well, Frau. Bernadine."

Maria started, "I'm a reporter from Germany. I write in Berlin. This was my first international job. We sent through to the mayor to ask for an article to be written about Herr Reynald."

"You are a German citizen?"

"Yes. But I wasn't born there. I come from Milan, but moved to Berlin to study there."

"Continue, please."

"I was allowed to come. I arrived last week and visited this house every day to obtain information."

"And what did Herr Reynald tell you?"

"He really just expounded on his hatred for everyone living and dead. Today was my last day."

"Was Herr Reynald unusual today?" he looked to both the women. Frau. Reynald answered, "He was fine this morning. Now signs of illness or discomfort. I made him breakfast and sat here, reading."

"What did you read?"

"My cooking journals." she displayed a half-smile, "I was going to surprise him with a pork roast from the butcher's."

Will nodded understandingly and said, "It was a special occasion."

"It was to him. The anniversery of his being rewarded with the Black Skull for bravery, all those years ago. I never approved of his pro-Nazi attitude. But it pleased him to think that I supported him. The poor man was unredeemable in his thinking. I tried to get him to mingle with different people, but he treated my efforts with disdain."

"Go on. You were talking about this morning."

"Yes. Maria came to the door at nine-thirty. I admitted her and let her go to the bedroom."

She looked to Maria, who faltered a bit before starting again, "Herr Reynald was his usual self to me."

"How was he with you, usually?"

"He, well, he treated me as an object to favor, I think. He would stare at me. I'm sorry you have to hear that Geraldine."

"It's alright." Frau. Reynald said, "You probably were a bit of entertainment to him."

Maria went on, "Today, he was very vicous. H-he attacked me. Ripped my jacket, even."

She held out her sleeve, showing a large tear in the shoulder area.

Frau. Reynald cut in, "I heard Maria's cries and ran upstairs, taking Ernst's resorative draught with me."

"Restoritive draught?"

"It's for his spasms. In his old age he would sometimes slip into spells. The draight cured that. I got Maria away from him. Had her fetch a spoon, I had forgotten to bring one up in the confusion. I forced him the draught and he, well, I don't think he swallowed it. You see, he choked very badly and then he died."

Will nodded and clapsed her hand, "Thank you, ladies. I am sorry to have you recount thouse events but it was nessecery. We shall have him in for his autopsy by evening."

"Autopsy?" Maria raised an eyebrow.

"Yes. We will have to analyze his autonmy to better see how he died."

As if to further the tension in the room, Oscar entered the kitchen.

He said, "I've examined the tonic. It was laced with something."

Maria gasped, Frau. Reynald tenses and Will rose, "You sure?"

"Positive, Herr Constable. Someone tampered with it."

It was a horrible moment, when three pairs of eyes turned on Geraldine Reynald. Two of the pairs were accusatory, one was inquisitve. All were piercing.

It was late afternoon when the hotel guests returned to the Weinbeck. Gerard Dietrich had dozed off, to be sure, and was startled by knocks on the door of the port door.

He unlocked it and admitted the party.

"Did you enjoy your day?" he inquired.

"It was phenominal!" the lady with the camera exulted, "Absolutely stunning!"

"I am glad." Gerard said, rather not glad, "Please file in. Eight to a gondola."

He sent the group off. Sitting down, happy that there were only a few more hours in his work-day, before he retired to bed. There was a snow forcast for later in the week. No doubt that might earn him a day off early, as the guests would want to stay out of the blizzard.

He only hoped so! It was quite tiresome to get up at six o'clock every day and sit around, sometimes letting some people down and then bringing them back up. Well, at least the money was good.

It _ought _to be good, if they wanted him to stay one more Christmas.

Yvette was freshing up for tonight's show. She had once again atirred herself in that ridiculous dress and had just washed her hair. She had a plan for tonight. Now that Eli was gone, she was going to rope herself a new agent. Her scheme was tricky, but no doubt she'd be able to ensnare _someone_. Walking down the corridor, she tried the elevator but the doors would not open. The stairway was deserted and allowed Yvette to apply some extra perfume in order to help in her plan.

She found the dining room almost deserted. The tree in the back and the Nativity on the stage were still resplendent as ever. Herr Weiss was standing in the center of the room. He smiled at Yvette when he saw her, "Frau. Schnieder, you look goregous." he took her hand a lead her onto the stage.

"Have you rehearsed for tonight?"

"Yes. I think I'll be fine."

"That is a lovely scent you wear!"

"Thank you. It's Italian."

"Ah!"

Yvette grinned. If all the men in this place were as easy as that, he plan would work in a winking. But she couldn't have any old pervert. This time, she was fixing things the way they should be.

Lois sat with Kathy and Chris once again.

"Did you have a nice day in the village, Lois?" Kathy asked her.

"Yes, I enjoyed it very much." Lois affirmed, "And how did you and Chris pass your day, Kathy?"

"We looked about. The archtitecture in Geimhaven is marvelously rural and rustic!"

"Well, I don't know much about architechture," Lois admitted, "but the town is very pretty."

"Yes, very pretty." Kathy agreed.

Chris looked at the two ladies and posed the question, "Does anyone want a drink? I could go and get one."

Kathy smiled, "I'm fine with my water, Chris, thanks."

Lois said, "I think I'll be adventurous tonight. I'll have a Pepsi."

Chris chuckled under his breath and went to the bar in the corner.

Yvette sang through that second dinner as she was supposed to. She noted that her scent attracted several men in the audience to pay more attention than they did at the welcome banquet.

While she sang, she thought of people who would make good agents. They need not know much about music. They would just need to be decent, not grabby and a little nice.

Halfway through her roster, she came to the song she had chosen.

Rather than launch right into it, she motioned to the pianist to stop playing and adressed the crowd, "Good evening, everyone!"

There was a polite bout of applause.

"In case you didn't know, my name is Yvette Schneider. I'm a spec singer and I'm loving every minute of it!"

More applause. She just had to keep hamming it up.

"For my next song, we're gonna have Christmas classic. I'd like a male volunteer from the audience. Show of hands, who wants to sing with me?"

Half the males in the crowd rose their hands. Among them, Yvette noticed the burly man. He was probably just as bad, if not worse, than Eli. No. Yvette wanted someone less intimidating. There was her target! The tall college student with the preppy glasses and the cute smile. If he wasn't a doll, she didn't know who was!

"You! In the back!" she pointed to him, "Come on up here!"

The man hurried up to her, being photographed all the way by his friend with the camera.

"What's your name?" she asked him, holding the microphone to his lips.

"Chris Lewin." he replied.

"Okay, Chris! We'll be having our first duet!"

She whispered to him the name of the song and whether or not he new the lyrics. To her delight, he replied in the affirmative.

Yvette motioned to the pianist to start up again, which was done.

"_I really can't stay._" Yvette started, moving close to Chris.

"_Baby it's cold outside._" he responded.

"_I've got to go away._"

"_But baby, it's cold outside._"

Yvette know took Chris' arm and let him hold her, twirling her. He was getting into the act, alright. Good for the boy.

"_This evening has been so very nice._"

"_I'll hold your hands, they're just like ice._"

She stretched her arms over her head and let him take them, awkwardly.

She could sense his embaressment, as well as his obvious delight. This was going _very _well.

Gloria moped a bit at seeing the one guy who had been friendly to her dancing with the blonde beauty on stage. She figured if she didn't get to hook up this Christmas, she never would. Everyone back home found her at least plain and at most, a nuiscence. In this new setting, she had hoped that at least one person would liken to her. But as it seemed to be turning out, she never would get her chance.

She didn't like that idea. She hoped that Chris wasn't completely taken in by the singer's ruse. If he wasn't, she might get a real boyfriend. A pen pal! Someone recieve from!

Gloria dearly wished that this could be true. She more than wished it. She _needed _it.

Chris was in shock. This woman, this _goddess_ was singing and dancing around him in the most seductive, sexy way possible! Chris was also singing, of course, holding Yvette when she moved to him and once cradling her head in his hands when he rested in against his chest.

He noted that Kathy was snapping a picture every other line. Great. Wonderful story to tell his parents when they got back to Virginia.

The song concluded with Yvette draped across Chris' arms, taking his head in her hands. The applause were stunning and lasted for about three minutes. Chris managed to notice every man in the crowd staring at him as though he was the luckiest man alive.

Which he probably was, come to think of it.

Will had examined the tonic at his office, ordering Oscar to stay with Frau. Reynald and Maria at the cottage. What astounded him was that, by all appearences, odors and comparisons, the tonic had been laced with pottasium cyanide.

Everything stood to prove the validity of this statement. The scent of bitter almonds, the light white film on the sides of the bottle, the distinctive traces of powder in the dregs.

The cyanide must have been added to the tonic fairly recently for a solution to still be gathered at the bottom.

But _why _would someone want to poison Ernst Reynald?

Actually, that question would be easily answered. He had wronged many people in his time. He was a self-proclaimed enemy of all who weren't distinctly Aryan. He had burned down the town's old inn. He had abused and mistreated his wife.

_He had abused and mistreated his wife!_

That was an idea.

Will pulled his coat back on and hurried off.

He had to return to the Reynald cottage.

Yvette concluded her song with Chris to much applause, of which she was very appreciative.

"Thanks so much, Chris!" she called after him as he returned to his table.

The second half of her plan would come about after the performance. For now that she had baited him, what would be so hard about having this boy in the palm of her hand?

She rolled through her last few songs with ease, the piano accompanying her. There was clapping, to be sure, but none so impressive as when she had sang with Chris.

She took that as a good sign. Taking her final bow, Yvette retired backstage where Herr Weiss gave her his usual little nod. Drinking some warm water for her voice, she stepped out into the lobby, as she had done last night, and waited.

When Christopher Lewin came out of the dining room, Yvette would be waiting for him.

"That's my student! That's my student!" Kathy cheered as Chris returned to the table.

She told Lois, "You know he was always a singer. I have tapes from his parent's anniversery that are to die for!"

Kathy had always been proud of Chris, from the time she knew him as a young boy. Now, as her top pupil, she believed he was something to be treasured.

Chris sat back down and let Kathy take countless pictures. He did worry though that by Christmas day, she wouldn't have any space left on that camera.

Maria had made Geraldine a cup of hot tea, as she had vied to stay with her till Will returned. Deputy Gobler was standing outside the house, at his post. Whether it was for their protection or thier persecution, they didn't know.

Their was a knock on the door, a furious altercation with the Deputy and enventually, Erzebeth Flaton was admitted to the cottage.

She went straight to Geraldine, her voice quick and business-like, as it so often was, "I heard everything, Geraldine! The bastard's really dead?"

Geraldine paled, "Erzebeth, don't say that! Deputy Gobler could overhear and suspect!"

"If Deputy Gobler suspects me, I'll tell his mother. We've been friends for thirty years."

Geraldine wrung her hands, "This is terrible! Ernst is dead and now I'm the prime suspect!"

"Geraldine, dear, if they do anything to you, they'll have to hear from me. The whole town's buzzing. This is the first really interesting thing that's happened since the dead man himself burnt the inn down."

"You don't mean to say that they all suspect me?"

"I've heard whispers. They're all hungry for something to gossip about. And so close to Christmas, too! I tell you, the devil will have their tongues."

She finally seemed to notice that Maria was in the room, "Maria, dear! Why are you still here? You ought to go!"

Maria was puzzled, "Why?"

"Because you're an outsider here and you've been seeing the old man for a week! Our constabulatory are hopeless idiots! You have to leave! Tonight!"

"Frau. Flaton, nothing can happen to me! They can't be as misguided to suspect me, who hadn't even known him until a few days ago, you, who are highly respected by everyone in thie village. And most certainly not you, Geraldine."

As if to contradict her very statement, the door opened and Constable Carris stormed in.

"Geraldine Reynald," he announced, "You're under the warrent of house-arrest."

Geraldine stood, "Why?"

"Until further evidence springs up, you are the most likely in this area to have killed your husband. Drug analysis confirms that their was a deadly poison in his tonic, which you administered to him all the time. Including right before his death."

Erzebeth charged up to him, "Constable, may I remind you that Geraldine was absolutely devoted to that old codger! Why, why, _why _would she kill him, however much everyone else would have wanted to?"

Carris paused, "That is why she is merely under _house _aresst. She's not being arrested, as I have said, until more evidence springs up against her. Until that time, Frau. Reynald will stay in this house with my Deputy monitoring, as he is now. These are for your own protection. Including your own, Frau. Reynald."

"Me?" Geraldine tried her best to keep her voice firm, "What protection do I need, Constable?"

"If someone else killed your husband, they might have been trying to frame you. One never knows when the next link in the chain will be broken."

"A pretty analogy." Erzebeth said, icy, "But I remind you, Constable, that this is the first sudden death we've had in decades. You immediately pick out every single cliche from every single detective novel published in the the last century."

Carris sighed, "Frau. Flaton, I am not 'picking cliches' as you say. I am going by instinct."

"Constable, you may once have been a talented man and peace-keeper in Geimhaven. But there hasn't been a single domestic distubance in years. You've lost your touch."

"Frau. Flaton, if you weren't a celebrity around here, I'd take you in for cheek."

"You wouldn't dare, anyway. Now," she turned to Maria, "This girl has to leave tonight. She has no more to do here and would like to return to Germany. I'd like you to wake Zaccarias Oscow and have him drive her to the train. With all luck, she might catch the eleven o'clock express to Vienna."

"I can't do that, madam."

"Why not?"

"She must be kept until the murder is solved. I will have a message sent to her people in Berlin. They will surely understand."

Maria, who had been qiuet the whole altercation, spoke up, "Herr Constable, I have to go! My job is on the line!"

"And is your job more important that the life of another?"

"The life of that particular other, yes." muttered Erzebeth under her breath.

Maria said, "I need to be home for Christmas! My family's coming to see me for the first time since I moved!"

"I am sure that will be very touching. But no doubt this murderer, or," he added pointedly, "murderess, will ber ferreted out before Christmas."

Maria opened her mouth to retort, but Carris had already left the cottage.

"This is outragous! Outrageous!" Erzebeth was frantic, "Geraldine, dear, I shall hop onto this at once! You're not going to jail! Maria, we are getting you out of this village! Come! Good night, Geraldine, don't fret! Quickly, Maria, we must make plans!"

Geraldine muttered a shocked, 'Thank you' and Maria simply stared at the powerful old woman who was trying to help two of her friends.

There was no such thing as such kindess in the big cities where Maria had always lived.

Perhaps there was such thing as 'rural hospitality'.

"Mom, where's Dad?" Selia asked Minerva as they climbed up the stairs to their rooms, the elevator being out of order, as it was.

Minerva paused, delicatly She had told Selia this morning about her argument with Rich. How he planned on leaving them the moment they returned home. Rich, though, hadn't appeared since then.

"He might be sulking, dear." she told her daughter, "he might feel miffed by how we fought."

"But, Mom, he started it." Selia tried to comfort her, "He's always had a short temper. If he wants to leave the family, he caould at least dpo some curtesy and stay till after Christmas."

They entered their suite and found the terrible truth.

Rich's suitcase was gone and his coat and hat weren't in the closet. On the nightstand, was a note which read:

_'Minnie, _

_I'm leaving. Don't expect me back. As we agreed, the house is mine. Feel free to live with Walter._

_Selia, I wish you happiness. Sally is also your, provided she's still alive when I get back._

_You'e asked for this, Minnie. Now, see what it's like to be on your own._

_Richard'_

Selia whimpered, Minerva gasped.

"Selia, I'm sorry." she moaned, "But Daddy won't be here for Christmas."

"That _bastard_!" Selia moaned, "We have to stop him before he leaves!"

"Selia, it's probably too late for that!"

"We can't just let him get away!" Selia ran out into the corridor, screeching hysterically.

"Wait, Selia!" Minerva called, tears forming in her eyes as she watched her family break apart.

Walter heard a familier voice screaming in the corridor. He stepped out and found himself crashing headlong into Selia, sobbing uncontrolably.

"Selia? Selia, what's wrong?"

"Daddy! Daddy!" she wheezed.

Walter helped her to her feet and led her into his room.

"Joyce, talk to Minnie, down the hall!" he called once he had gotten Selia onto a sofa.

Joyce came out of the bathroom, wrapped in her robe and drying her hair.

When she saw Selia, she knew immediatly that something was wrong with her future in-laws.

"I'll be right there." she said, qiuetly, hurrying off.

Walter let Selia rest her head in his lap, "Did he just up and leave?"

"Yes! He left a note. Walter, this is terrible! He won't be here for Christmas and it's very likely he won't show up at our wedding! I'll probably never see him again."

Walter wrapped his arms around her, "You still have me. Your Mom will get through this. We'll help you. I love you."

Selia raised her head, "Thanks. Thanks so much."

They kissed lightly, Selia closing her eyes as she rested against her fiance.

Chris was just headed to the stairs when he was stopped by Yvette.

"Chris! Could I have a word with you?" Chris smiled, "Sure."

"In private, please."

"Private?" Chris said, a tad uneasy.

"Yeah. My room, perhaps."

Chris just about fell over.

"This is assinine!" Joyce was revolted, scanning Richard's letter, "Minnie, I can't believe he would do that to you!"

"We'd been talking about it for some time." Minnie said, soft as anything, "I knew it was inevitable. Selia knew it too. But we thought he'd at least stick around long enough to see his daughter get married."

"He's an asshole, Minnie. You never know. It's always the nice ones."

"He was never nice. He was alright when we met. Afterwards, it all went to hell. He clung to me for support. He needed to be taken care of. He wouldn't pay for anything. I had to take on extra jobs for Selia's college tuition. I had to get _him _jobs whenver he was out of work, which was often."

"Think of it this way, Minnie." Joyce tried to be as comforting as she could, "You don't have to worry about him ever again."

"That's what worries me."

"What?"

"Selia is going to be fatherless."

"She has you, Minnie. You're the best mom a girl could ask for. You're always there. Our mom was never there. Neither was dead. Mom killed herself when she found out that Dad had cheated. Many times. With many different women. We were young when that happened. Selia is older now. She had a mom. She will get through this, Minnie, and so will you. You just have to be confident. And know that we are always going to be there for you. Walter, Roger, me. We're gonna be family. I think what you need is a cup of tea."

She got up and walked off to fetch one.

Chris ws led into Yvette's room, upon which, she began to unbotten her fluffed up corset, revealing the sleeveless red dress beneath it.

"You are a wonderful singer." she praised him, "And I was wondering if you'd like to be my partner?"

Chris wavered, "I'm a student. I'm working for my degree."

"You can still persue it. Take classes online."

"I'd never considered becoming a singer."

"But you have a lovely voice."

"I had a tutor when I was little. But my real passion has always been photography."

"You can do both. I-I just need a partner and I was hoping that you would say yes. My old partner left me, to my delight. You're nice. I thought you might have wanted to perform with me."

"I'm flattered. Really. But I-I've promised my family that I was gonna graduate."

"Please." Yvette's voice quivered, "I know this means leaving your family and friends."

"I really don't have many friends. Just Kathy."

"You don't have any friends your own age?"

"No. I don't."

"I never had many friends of my own. I was always a working girl. I didn't waste time to make friends."

"Well, this might be kinda corny, but we can be friends. And I could sing with you. Have you ever gone on tour in America?"

"I've never been on tour, period. I need to gain notarity first."

"I could help you get a start in America. My old tutor, he'd be glad to meet you. He knows some people. He could start you out."

Yvette smiled, "Thank you. This seemed to be going very fast. I'm a little light-headed."

Chris took her hand and shook it, "See me tomorow. We'll talk."

Yvette nodded and watched him leave.

She was stunned. It was worked better than anything!

She was going to America!

Rich stormed down the corridor. He had been in the laundry room, making sure he hadn't left any of his clothes in there. Now, suitcase in hand, he approached the elevator.

Pressing the button to go down yeilded a crisp '_Ding!_' as the doors opened.

Rich was just about to step in when he noticed that, if he did so, he would fall down the shaft to where the elevator was stopped.

Pressing his hand to his heart and taking deep gasping breaths, Rich attempted to turn back, in order to take the stairs.

When he turned, he found his path blocked by someone. Before he could take in a single detail of who the person was, he was pushed into the shaft.

It was so quick, that he didn't even have time to draw breath for a scream. He just fell, hearing the _ding_ of the doors closing again, leaving him in total darkness. There was a thud as he came in contact with the 'roof' of the elevator itself. He heard several audible cracks and took this the mean that he had broken several bones.

He spotted the ridges in the roof that indicated the opposite side of the elevator's emergency exit trap-door. He clutched and scratched at it, trying to pry it open, but it was no use. The trapdoor was meant to be opened from the inside, not the out.

An important factor that Rich did not know was that one of his ribs had broken and pierced his right lung.

This fact did become apparent to him as his breaths became more labored and his vision clouded over.

Rich releazed right then that this wouldn't have happened if he had kept his head. If he hadn't just walked out on Minnie and Selia he wouldn't have gone to the elevator and that person wouldn't have pushed him.

But Rich was given a very limited time to think about these things.

In a matter of five minutes from when he was pushed, Richard Lewis died.

It was justice. But it was cruel justice.

A/N: As said, this was very fun. The deaths weren't that violent compared to last chapter but next chapter is going to have a very, er, _peculier _death. But you'll have to wait until next week to see what it is!

Update Coming Next Friday!:)


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3, Rip!

There was no sun on the morning of December twenty-first. The wind was fresh and the sky was gray. Frances Antoni woke in a bed that was not her own. She remembered, a little vaguely, the events of the last night.

She and Roger had danced again. He had entranced her and she had been charmed. They had gone up to his room and, after a few drinks, they had fallen on top of each other.

She looked to her side and found that that space had already been vacated. She heard a sound of the shower down the other side of the suite. She had to speak to Roger and go, before one of his siblings dashed in on her! She rumaged under the bed, looking for her evening dress and heels.

Frances stiffened when she heard footsteps down the corridor, and in came Roger, wrapped in a towel.

"Hey." he smiled, 'You don't have to worry. Joyce is downstairs and Henry's going down with Selia."

"Thanks for everything." she told him, collecting her clothes, "I'd better get back to my room, before Nick gets suspicous."

"Wanna get coffee later?" Roger lifted an eyebrow, coy.

"That'd be nice. See you at lunch."

With a quick nod, she ran out of the room.

Hans snapped off some quick directions to the kitchen staff. He had tonight off and intended to have everything set up for the day.

Frau. Belekenau slunk up to him, weaving through the flour sacks and under the steel counter-tops.

"Not now, Fraulein." he told the cat, "Go out and flirt with that little dog creature."

As if intent on obeying him, Frau. Belekenau dashed off. Herr Weiss entered the room then.

"Good morning Herr Toblar." he greeted him, "I trust the new bacon shipments have come in."

"They arrived in Dietrich's gondola this morning."

"Will there be enough for tomorow's breakfast?"

"I believe so."

"Good. Have a fine day."

He turned to go, but Hans stopped him, "Have you adressed Frau. Vishtko on the menus, yet? I woudldn't want another misshap after what happened yesterday."

"I assure you, Herr Toblar, yesterday's mistake was a printing error, nothing more. Now I don't want to hear any more from either you or Frau. Vishtko on this subject. After arguing for years, you'd think you'd have found more interesting things to bicker about."

Hans gave a grunt and allowed Herr Weiss to exit.

Chris pulled on his boots, preparing to go on a hike over the mountain with Kathy and some others from the party.

Kathy came in from the closet, wrapped in her heavy coat, ear-muffs, wrap-around sunglasses and scarlet scarf.

"Ready to go, Chris?"

"Just about, Kathy. You got your camera?"

"All set." she assured him, "Just gussy up fast, we don't want to miss anything."

Chris nodded and pulled on his jacket.

He was ready to go.

Gloria hummed to herself as she tied her hair back. Today, she planned to stay inside and rest. Perhaps spend some time at the spa.

The elevator was out of order, so she took the stairs down and found herself bumping into the elegant woman: Minerva.

"Oh, excuse me!" Minerva bent down to keep Gloria from tumbling down the stairs, "I'm sorry."

"No, no." Gloria smiled, "It was my fault."

"It's a bit late for breakfast, isn't it?"

"Actually, I'm going without food this morning."

"Oh." Minerva smiled, "If you'd excuse me, I have to deal with family business."

Gloria suddenly remembered the commontion that there had been in the night. In an attempt to be consoling, she said, "I heard about what happened. I'm very sorry."

Minerva looked a tad put out, but said, "It's alright, dear. It's just a little complicated, this being Christmas time and all."

"I understand. I've had a few bad Christmases myself. Just look on the brightside of things. It really could be worse."

"Thank you, dear. May I ask what your name is?"

"Gloria."

"Well, Gloria, I hope to have a talk with you later. You seem like a nice girl."

"Alright. Bye."

"Bye, dear."

Minerva ascended and Gloria descended, feeling a slight margin better now that she'd earned a new friend.

Maybe she _was _good for something after all.

Igor looked about at the people getting ready to embark on the hike around Mount Rancour. The photographer and her ward were there. Yvette was also present, and so were the twins and the school-teacher. The aristocratic couple came in a little late, the woman looking reluctant.

"Good morning, everyone." Igor beamed, "And welcome to the hike. I'd like to begin by going over some rules. There _is _a trail, which must be followed at all times. It is advised that you don't wander. The pine forest is quite a sprawl and it would be terrible to be lost over Christmas. Please mind any large rocks and keep photographs to a minimum." he looked pointedly at the photographer.

"We will approach the cliffs at one point, and it is strongly advised that you stay well away from the edges. That is all. Let's be off!"

He turned and the others followed him out of the lobby.

"I would like to see Frau. Reynald."

"Frau. Flaton, I cannot allow that. Constable Carris has instructed me not to let anyone into the cottage."

"Listen here, Oscar Gobler." Erzebeth drew her face up to his, standing on tip-toe to glare in the young man's eyes, "You are holding the wrong woman prisoner. I will not stand back and watch as you make a mockery of our police system! In the days of my youth, we had Constable Bauragard. _He _knew how a murder case should be handled! All you have for evidence is a bottle! Nothing points to Geraldine Reynald except the wild idea that she would want to murder the elderly man that she was devoted to! If she really wanted her husband's money so badly, she could have waited a few months for him to pop a gasket and die naturally!"

"Frau. Flaton, this talk is unsuitable. You make the air cold."

"It is cold already, you air-head!" Erzebeth was just about fed up with this dunce.

"Mark my words, my boy, I am going to clear Geraldine's name and I will ferret out this murderer!"

She spun on her heel and walked off. Her plans to meet with Geraldine to discuss courses of action had been foiled. Now, she had to focus on getting Maria Bernadine home for Christmas.

Erzebeth approached the work-shop/garage of Zaccarias Oscow, hoping to arrange a clandestine bus trip down to the train-station.

Unfortunately, the heavy wood doors were barred and the old bus in the front court looked quite a mess.

"Oscow!" Erzebeth hammered on the doors, "Zaccarias! I have a question for you!"

No answer.

After some more pounding, Erzebeth figured that Oscow wasn't in. She turned to go, only to bump into young Rachel Bartow.

"Oh, Frau. Flaton! Is Zach home? Have you seen him?" she seemed to be trying to cover up fierce indignation.

"No, child. The place is locked and he isn't answering. Were you planning on going for an outing, this morning?"

"Actually," Rachel lowered her voice, "Zach stood me up, Monday night."

"Really? That's not like him."

"I know. I knew he had work to do, so I supposed he had just forgotten to tell me that he couldn't come. What annoys me, though, is that he didn't come to me, yesterday. I have a feeling he's trying to avoid me."

Erzebeth rose her eyebrows, "Child. You mean to tell me that you haven't seen him?"

"I haven't! Not since Monday afternoon."

"Have you talked to Constable Carris?"

"The Constable? Why, Frau. Flaton, that's a little bit rash, isn't it?"

"You have heard about our recent tragedy, haven't you?"

"You mean Herr Reynald? Yes. I reckon the whole village has heard about it by now."

"You might want to see the Constable, dear. Zaccarias wouldn't up and leave without notifying anyone."

Just then, Erzebeth's eyes widened. _Zaccarias was missing._ That could have meant any number of things. To Erzebeth, it meant that she had an initial suspect. An unlikely one. But a suspect all the same.

"Rachel, child. I have a bit of business to contend with. Is your store open today?"

"Why, yes. But not until ten."

"I'll be there at around eleven. You _do_ carry hardware? Herr Wilke's shop is far too expensive for tools."

"I carry lumber and hand tools for half the price of Herr Wilke's." Rachel said, a little proudly at being able to advertise her business.

"You can expect me there, then."

"Then I'll get ready to open." Rachel nodded a good-bye and headed up the high street.

Erzebeth thought. She needed break into Oscow's work-shop. Just to see if all was well.

One death and a dissapearence didn't bode well in a town as qiuet as Geimhaven.

Yvette kept close to the main group on the hike. It had been at Chris' becokoning that she had decided to join the hiking party. It was nice to just have a casual relationship for once. Nothing serious. Just a new friend.

The evergreens were beautiful. Tall and dark, the upper branches glittering with light snow. Herr Weiss would point out the details in the different types of trees and how their placement affected their growth.

Yvette was paying minimal attention. And then she just so happened to look in a stand of trees just to the side of the path.

A little grey lump of fabric was lying in the snow, in the shadow of an enormous tree.

Making sure that no one noticed her, Yvette moved off of the trail and picked up the thing.

It was a hat. A grey, felt fedora.

Just like Eli's.

Noticing that the group was moving ahead, Yvette jogged to catch up with them, before anyone noticed her absence.

It was the hat that bothered her. Eli had left, hadn't he? Then again, Eli's hat was a common type. It could have belonged to anyone

Besides, why would Eli want to stay on Mount Rancour? Could he actually have stuck around, hoping for one last chance with her?

No. That was a silly notion. Eli had more sense that that.

She hoped so, at least. She didn't want to deal with him ever again.

Selia was gathered in her suite, with her mom, Walter and Joyce. Eddy was curled in her lap.

"We have to track the bastard down." Joyce said right off, "Selia. We have to do it for you. And you too, Minnie."

Mom piped up, "Joyce, honey, it's alright. Besides, he's probably already on the first plane back to to New York. Really, the family is better off without him."

"But Mom, we can't just let Dad waltz away! He's claimed the house."

"I allowed him to take the house. I'll manage, dear. I always have. None of you owe it to me to provide me shelter. I'll get an apartment of my own."

"No, Minnie." Walter was firm, "You're staying with us. You're a member of this family, we can't just abandon you when you're in need."

"Walter, Joyce, you're too kind. I can't impose. I'll arrange for a place to stay. Selia, I'll take care of Sally."

Selia took her mom's hand, "Mom, we're trying to help you!"

"Dear, I don't need help. You owe me nothing, none of you."

"Mom." Selia's eyes began to water, "Let us help you. Dad made a lot of mistakes, but he can't ruin your life."

"Where would I stay, then?"

"With us!" Joyce spread out her arms, "You can live with us! Selia will be. Why shouldn't you?"

Mom's faced flushed, "Thank you all. I guess you give me no choice. I'll move in with you. But you can expect me to help out around the house and do my share of work. Just because you're sheltering me, doesn't mean I am exempt from work. I'll continue at my job and I will do all I can to bring my share of profit to the family."

Selia sighed, "If that's what it'll take, Mom, alright."

"Yes." Joyce agreed, accompanied by a nod from Walter, who said, "We'll take good care of you, Minnie. I promise."

Selia looked at her new family with renewed anticipation for her wedding. Not just were she and Walter going to finally be wed, but she'd have the finest in-laws a girl could have.

"How much longer?" Emilia moaned to her husband as they trekked across the mountain-top.

"Emilia, dear, I told you to wear hiking boots. Those things with the high-heels will break your feet by the end of this."

"I don't own any flat boots!"

"If you look over here," Herr Weiss' voice came out over the crowd, "this cliff is the highest precipice in this range."

He was standing at a safe distance from the edge of Mount Rancour, a point that offered a beautiful view.

Herr Weiss continued to speak about the geological structure of Mount Rancour. While he spoke, Lois noted black traces in the snow leading up the drop-off. On close examination, the stuff was soot and cinder, that had frozen itself into the snow.

Kathy looked over to see her friend fingering the powder and asked, "Is something wrong, Lois?"

"No. But isn't this odd?" she showed Kathy the cinders, "It's like something was burning out here."

"Probably someone stamped out a ciggarete." Kathy chuckled, "Believe it or not, there are some who have the audacity to tarnish nature with smoke."

But that did not placate the naturally nervy Lois, "But the soot is scattered about. Look, it goes up to the cliff. The streams get thicker, too. Almost as through there was a fire."

"Put your mind at ease," Kathy tried to be soothing, "If there was a fire, there would be damage. No doubt, it's nothing to worry about. Oh! I think Mr. Weiss is moving on."

And they moved after him, not even once considering that directly below them, a man's scorched corpse was lodged in-between the rocks.

Rachel turned the key in the lock, stepping into her little shop. It was just as she had left it the last evening: the shelves, the hooks of garlic on the ceiling. Everything reeking of simplicity.

Taking her place behind the counter, Rachel positioned herself at the ancient register and waited.

As she stood, she pondered the question of Zach. Frau. Flaton had suggested that she see the Constable on the subject, something that Rachel was more than adverse to doing.

Constable Carris had enough on his plate already, what with the sudden death of Herr Reynald. No. There was probably a perfectly sensable explanation for Zach's disapearnce.

With a little ring, the door opened and Frau. Flaton herself entered.

"Rachel," she began, very excited for some reason, "did you see Constable Carris?"

"No—" Rachel trailed off, thinking of a clever lie, "He wasn't in his office." Than, in an effort to change the subject:

"What is is you wanted from the shop, Frau. Flaton?"

"Oh, just a sturdy sledge-hammer."

"A sledge-hammer?"

"Yes," Frau. Flaton said, as though it were such a regular thing for an elderly woman to want a heavy and dangerous hand-tool, "I'm knocking out my dining room wall to make room for a sitting area. You know that I've wanted one."

Rachel tought it against her better judgement, but money was the same all around, regardless of the consequences.

She marched into her back room and returned with the finest of her sledge-hammers.

Frau. Flaton paid the sum and held the tool, "Thank you, child. Have a good day."

And with that, Frau. Flaton left the shop.

Nick sighed as the hiking party stopped for lunch. The trip round the mountain had been quite boring, there were constant moans and groans coming from the old frog-lady, and the fat woman was surreptitiously snapping shots every time Herr Weiss turned his back.

Lunch was a simple set of sandwhiches dined on in a fine pine-wood gazebo.

Frances scooted over to him, "How are you?"

"Alright." he grunted.

"You're not still mad, are you?"

"About what?"

"About what I said, yesterday." Frances was getting a tad antsy.

"No. It's fine." Nick said, just to get her off of his back.

"It's just that I want you to be successful. That's the reason I try to help out."

"Okay." Nick tried not to sound _too _much like a pouting child as he returned to his lunch.

Frances slid down over to her spot on the bench. She noticed Chris and Yvette talking, light smiles on their faces. Signor and Signora DeStefano were bickering in hushed tones. Kathy and Lois were discussing their families back at home.

Frances decided that now was as good a time as any to speak to Herr Weiss.

"Excuse me." she tapped him on the back.

"Yes?"

"Herr Weiss, I couldn't help noticing—and a few others saw it too—that there was a trail of ashes in the snow leading to the edge of the mountain.

"Really? I hadn't noticed."

"It's a thick trail. Mrs. Burkely and Miss Smith told me that they were cinders. Like something had been burning in the snow."

Herr Weiss bit his lip in contemplation, "I'll send out some of the staff to look it over later. I can't be anything too serious, can it?" he gave a good natured chuckle, which Frances reciprocated, mind at ease.

Roger sat in the lounge, flipping through a back-issue of Playboy and sipping a whiskey. Joyce stormed in, looking as furious as a charging bull, and just as determined.

"Where were you?" she asked, raising her voice and prompting a maid to stare at them.

"What do you mean?"

"We were having a family conference to discuss where Minnie's going to stay!"

"And I was supposed to be there?"

"We were all supposed to be there! You were the only one missing! Do you care anything about your in-laws?"

"They're not in-laws yet, sis."

"They will be in a matter of months!"

"Well, I didn't get the memo! I apologize!" he spread his arms out sarcastically.

"What were you doing this morning that was _so _important, that you missed the conference?"

Roger froze in place. He had been in bed that morning. With Frances.

"I wasn't doing anything."

Joyce knew her brother very well. He knew when he was covering something up, "You were with a girl, weren't you?"

Roger sighed, "Yeah. I was."

Joyce buried her face in her hands, "Roger, I told you to lay off the random sex this week! Who was it?"

"That's for her to know!"

"Roger, who was it? Who was so important that you couldn't spend time consoling you're future mother-in-law?"

Roger stood up, slamming his whiskey on the coffee table, "It was Frances Antoni!" he snapped, "There, are you happy!"

He stormed out of the room.

Joyce sank onto the couch, picked up Roger's whiskey and downed it.

Why couldn't she have an _easier _family to take care of?

Will hopped over to the Reynald cottage at exactly one thirty that afternoon, by his watch.

Oscar Gobler was still standing guard.

"Any trouble, Oscar?"

"No. Frau. Reynald's just finished lunch."

"Anyone come to the door?"

"Just old Frua. Flaton. She demanded to be let in."

"Where is she now?"

"Dunno. She didn't come back here, at any rate."

"So, Maria Bernadine hasn't stopped by?"

"No, sir. Not yet."

"Where is the apartment she's rented? Do you know, where it is, by any chance?"

"Other side of town, I think. Why do you wish to talk with her, sir?"

"Just testing a theory, Oscar. Testing a theory."

He spun on his heel and headed towards the high street.

Gloria let out a satisfyed sigh as she soaked in the hot-tub at the Weinbeck spa. There were no other guests there—that is except for Ben Hastings. He had just entered, clad in nothing but swim trunks, and had stepped into the hot tub next to her.

"Hey." he said, casual as anything.

"Hi." was all Gloria could manage.

They stayed in ridgid silence. Ben smiled tranquilly, looking at the pretty spa attendents milling about with stacks of towels and baskets of lotions.

Gloria figured that this was probably the closest she would ever get to anyone as sexy as Ben. So she decided to make the most of it.

"How have you been?" she asked, internally cursing herself for her apparent lack of flirting skills.

"Fine, thanks." Ben replied.

Gloria curled her legs under her. This was probably going to be the most awkward moment of her life.

Chris introduced Yvette to Kathy on their way back to the Weinbeck. They talked of Yvette's plans for America and how she would like Chris' old tutor.

"He is such a dear." Kathy was saying, "He might even offer up a discount since you're one of Chris' friends!"

"That would be nice." Yvette tried to get her word in, but Kathy spoke like a moving train: never ceasing or pausing for breath.

"You know," Chris added, "America's a pretty good place to get noticed. Not so much where _we _live." he gestured to himself and Kathy, "But New York and LA are great places."

"I've lived all my life in Austria." Yvette smiled, "Is it very warm in America?"

"Oh, it all depends!" Kathy started again, "You never know, really. It was so warm last summer, but the summer before that was chilly as anything! It's so peculier!"

They were cut off, by a stumble and a cry. Lois had tripped up a something in the trail and was sprawled out on the ground.

"Oh, dear!" Kathy gasped.

Chris and Signor DeStefano helped Lois to her feet while Herr Weiss, pale as a sheet, felt her ankle.

"I'm quite alright, no need to worry." Lois insisted, "I wasn't looking where I was going, is all."

Signor DeStefano bent down to examine what it was that Lois had stumbled over, "Looks like a burnt out cigar." he sniffed it, making a face, "Smells like kerosene."

Herr Weiss paused, in thought, "Odd." And, just like that, they continued up the path.

Emilia leaned close to Rudi and whispered to him, "Are those one of your cigars?"

"Not likely." Rudi snorted, "I don't smoke them very often, and certainly not out on this trail."

"I think it's disgusting!" Emilia went on, haughitly, "Imagine, lighting a cigar with kerosene! The whole thing would go up in flames!"

"It's a hazard." Rudi found in puzzling to no end, "Who the hell would do such a thing?"

He pondered this little mystery all the way back to the hotel.

Selia and Walter had spent the rest of the day together.

As they lay beside each other in Walter's bed, Eddy snuck over to them and reached up to paw at Selia's arm, which was hanging over the edge of the bed.

"Yeah, Eddy?" she turned to Walter, "He wants to pee. I'll take him to the pad."

She lovingly picked up the little puppy and strode over to where she kept Eddy's things.

Walter sat back, thinking about Selia. Thinking about marriage. Thinking about how he couldn't wait to make her the happiest woman in creation.

There were footsteps in the main room of the suite.

Assuming it to be Selia, Walter called, "Someting wrong, honey?"

"What?" came a voice, quite wierded out, "It's me. Roger."

"Come in." Walter sighed. He had heard about what Joyce had said to Roger earlier in the day.

Roger entered, "Bro. Got a situation."

"What is it?"

"Did you hear? About Frances and I?"

"Yeah. Joyce couldn't stop spouting cusses and slamming the furniture. You know, sleeping around with women that you're never gonna see again isn't a very good idea. I mean, do you even know anything about Frances?"

"She's a publisher. Her twin brother's a writer. Her Mom is dead and her Dad went off somewhere. That's everything I know,"

"And you're probably not even gonna bother finding out anymore about her."

"That's not true!" Roger insisted.

"So you're planning on having a real relationship and not just a fling?"

"Maybe." Roger didn't sound very certain.

"If you like her so much, than spend time with her."

"She wanted to get a coffee after lunch."

"Is she back from the hike, yet?"

"I don't know."

"Get a coffee with her. Socialize without looking at her chest."

Roger nodded, "Will do, bro!"

Walter rolled his eyes. It was nice helping out his brother.

He was just so insufferable sometimes.

Frances stepped into the lobby with the other members of the hiking party. Herr Weiss wished them a good day and walked off while the others slowly dispersed.

She saw Roger leaning agaisnst the far wall, he waved her over.

"Yeah, Roger?"

"Wanna get coffee?"

Frances grinned, "Sure."

They walked off toward the lounge, chattering happily.

Will knocked on the door of apartment B16: a little one-room place in Geimhaven's only apartment building.

Sure enough, Maria opened the door, catching herself at the sight of the town Constable.

"Oh, Constable Carris! Is something the matter."

"I just wanted to ask you a few quiestions pertaining to yesterday."

"Oh! Very well, then. Please come in."

She led him into the simple little area, seating him down on a couch.

"Would you like anything? Tea? Coffee?"

"No, thank you."

"Well, than what have you to ask me?"

"When Frau. Reynald gave her husband the restorative, did you note anything out of the ordinary?"

Maria let out a sigh of relief. Such a ridiculous question!

"No. She forced the spoon to him, but he was raving mad anyway."

Did Herr Reynald have any last words for the present company?"

Maria gave a little laugh, "His last word was 'bitch'."

"Was the phrase directed towards his wife?"

"He was choking to death!" Maria was exasperated, "His eyes were bugging out. It's impossible to tell who he was looking at, if anyone."

Will nodded, understanding, "He may have suspected his own wife while in death's throes. Would he have had reason to?"

"I wouldn't know. From everything that _I've_ observed, Geraldine Reynald is a harmless creature who would never hurt a soul. She had no motive."

"We shall see." was all Will offerred in reply.

The sun had begun to set as the guests changed into their evening wear and stepped into to the dining room for the third night in a row.

Selia and Walter sat together. Joyce and Minnie shared a table. Frances had invited Roger to her and Nick's table as they had been warming up to each other.

The DeStefano's sat together as always, while Ben sat alone, as was his custom when he wasn't with a girl.

Chris, Kathy and Lois had their table in the back of the room.

Chris had noticed that Gloria was standing about, unsure of where to sit.

"Does anyone mind if I have Gloria sit here?"

"Oh, the qiuet girl? Not at all." Lois said.

"Go right ahead." Kathy consented.

Chris waved Gloria over, upon which she gave a sigh of relief and joined them.

"Thanks." she said, blushing slightly.

"Gloria, do you know Kathy? Or Lois?"

Introductions were made and dinner service began.

Yvette was on stage, singing as usual, when she saw that Chris was sitting with someone knew, she faltered. She had seen that girl around and about, but had never seen Chris talking to her.

Than agian, she had only known Chris for just about twenty-four hours, now.

Most likely, she was just a friend.

Why, then, did Yvette's face flush in mysterious anger whenever she looked at their table?

Nick found Frances and Roger's talk at table to be absolutely boring.

They had apparently met the first night and had become friends. Nick guessed, but did not say, that there was likely more to reason that Frances had been with Roger all last night.

Good for her that she was happy. Nick wanted her to be happy, dispite how angry she made him sometimes.

"Nick, do you remember the name of the cat we had as kids? The tabby with the gray stripes?" Frances asked him, she had been talking about pets with Roger.

"You called it Luna."

"Oh yeah! Because she had silver eyes, you see, and they were so bright in the dark that they looked like little moons! Did you ever have a pet?"

"I had a mouse, once." Roger shrugged.

Frances shuddered. She hated rodents.

"It was brown. Joyce named him Humburt."

"That's a weird name."

"She named him after the hunter in _Snow White_. She loved that story as a kid."

"I always loved _Beauty and the Beast_."

"The movie?"

"The original one, yes. It was made in the forties, years before the Disney one."

They were on the subject of fairy tales now. Nick toyed with the saled in his dish.

Even that was more interesting than the current conversation.

The music had diverted from the usual Christmas carol selection to a swinging number by the Andrews Sisters.

"Oh, I love this song!" Kathy started, "My Dad bought the record for me when I was young. I had always loved the Andrews Sisters!"

People were stepping onto the floor, to dance, which was probably why the song had been selected.

"Do you want to dance?" Chris said in the most polite of voices, looking at Gloria.

Gloria beamed, "Sure!" No one had ever asked her to dance before.

They stepped onto the floor, Kathy snapping pictures all the while.

Gloria felt silly now for thinking that no one would take a liking to her on this week. Chris seemed really nice, and Kathy and Lois were very sweet.

Gloria wasn't the best of dancers, but she managed, only occasionally treading on Chris' toes.

Yvette sang along to the beat, an old melody by the Andrews Sisters. She was glad to see that people were dancing, enjoying themselves.

Her contentment ended, though, when she saw that Chris and the girl he had been sitting with were dancing.

Why? Why was Yvette feeling so—so—jealous? She and Chris were just friends? That's how they wanted it to be.

Yvette didn't want to be involved in another romantic relationship until well into the New Year.

But she couldn't help feeling torn as she watched her first real friend dancing with someone else.

Minnie talked with Joyce over dinner. She was glad that she had finally taken a liking to her, after the incident with Rich.

"When are you going shopping for Selia's wedding dress?" Joyce asked as she sliced up the lamb chop on her plate.

"Selia's already picked her dress. She's determined to lose two pounds so she can fit into it perfectly."

"Wedding's are so complicated aren't they?" Joyce laughed, "I'll have to help you with the catering. I know the finest company. They're not too expensive to hire and they make great food. I'll pay for that."

"And you know," Minnie added, "Selia's chosen to have little sea-shell bottle stoppers as the wedding favors."

"How pretty!"

"They're Italian made."

They continued to talk about the upcoming wedding as the dinner progressed.

Hilda entered the kitchens. She had been given the 'honor' of letting Hans have his night off. To her, it was more like talking to a man-hungry lion that wouldn't hesitate to rip your limbs off if you crossed him.

Hans was already getting ready, pulling on his over-coat and porkpie hat.

"Good evening, Toblar. Enjoy your night off." she told him, "You're expected back by morning, so please don't pass out for too long at the tavern.

"Can do, Hilda." he said, hiding malice behind friendly words.

"Enjoy yourself." Hilda rolled her eyes as she left the room.

Emilia led Rudi back to the table as the music became Christmas-themed once more.

"That was a lovely dance, darling." she told him as the desert course was dished out, "We should do it more often."

"Yes, we don't dance quite as much as we used to." Rudi said while nodding to the waitress for an espresso.

"Things were simpler when we were young."

"Yes. You don't help as much, though, Emilia."

Emilia's lips puckered up as though she had just bit into a lemon, "Well, excuse me, if I like to look my best!"

"You're taste is eating through the bank Emilia. Money doesn't go as far as it used to."

Emilia stood up from the table in a huff, "Well, if that's how you want to be, than you can say goodbye to Christmas sex!"

She spoke loudly enough to have the big man at the next table stare at them.

Emilia, head held high, stormed out of the dining room.

Rudi sighed. This would blow over by tomorrow.

It always did.

Selia lay her head on Walter's shoulder.

"You tired?" he asked her.

"Sort of. Look," she noticed something out of the corner of her eye, "Mom's talking to Joyce."

Walter looked over and, to his surprise, saw that Selia was right, "Let's not disturb them. They might go right back to hating each other if we interfere."

"Right-o." Selia staggered, a tad drunk.

"Yep. You need to sleep."

They moved out, eager for some alone time.

"You danced very well." Kathy told Chris and Gloria as they sat back down.

Lois added, "My son hates dancing. He'd prefer to stay locked away writing screenplays for movies that will never be made."

"He's a screenwriter?" Kathy took interest.

"Of a sort."

While the two older women conversed, Chris looked up to the stage, where Yvette was taking her final bows.

"Dinner's finishing up." he told the ladies, "We ought to head upstairs."

And they dispersed.

Hans bid good-night to the rest of the kitchen staff and, after assurances that all the dishes would be taken care of, exited to the gondola port, to call for Gerard Dietrich.

The port was dark when he entered. Switching the lights on, Hans realized that there was another person in the port.

Before his eyes had quite adjusted to the light, Hans was struck on the back of the head by a wood block.

Though Hans was large, he went down like a brick, unconscious.

A searing pain, as well as a blatant ripping sound was what woke him.

The figure who had struck him was bending over him, carving knife in hand, and was slicing off strips of his skin.

These strips were placed in a bin. Through his pain, Hans recognized the bin as one of the meat storage containers from the kitchen pantry.

Hans couldn't make a sound as his skin was peeled off of him, he did though, make to stare at his murderer, who proceeded to gauge his staring eyes out of their sockets.

As he died, Hans figured that he could have done worse for a death.

There would probably be a murder investigation. The police would hunt the killer down.

There would be search parties as far as Vienna to find the wretched murderer.

The only thing that bothered Hans about dying, was that there would be no one left behind to take care of Frau. Bilkenau.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4, Skid!

It was five-thirty Thursday morning when Erzebeth Flaton came upon Zaccarias Oscow's workshop, sledge-hammer in hand.

She thought to herself before she brought the hammer down on the lock, "Think to yourself, Erzebeth. Is this necessary?"

She paused.

"Yes, Erzebeth. It is." she answered her own question.

And she wielded her hammer light a professional, bringing it down and down again against the door, until it gave in.

"Oscow!" she called out, "Oscow!"

She noted that it was silent as anything in the workshop. And dark, too. Very dark.

She thought to herself, "_Perhaps Oscow slipped the poison into Reynald's glass and than hopped it?_"

The theory still made as little sense as when she had first thought it up, but Erzebeth persisted.

When she came to the door to the storage room, Erzebeth faltered.

"God knows, maybe he _is _Reynald's murderer, and he's waiting for me in there with a butcher's knife." she muttered to herself.

But there was no use just standing about and waiting for something to happen. She had to take the initiative.

And so she did.

Pushing open the storage door, Erzebeth saw a set of rickety wooden planks that seemed to be used as steps.

"Damn Oscow and his shoddy craftsmanship!" Erzebeth cursed. She was far too old for all of this.

Nevertheless, she descended into the storage cellar.

"If only I had brought a flashlight." Erzebeth found speaking to herself to be the best way to calm her nerves, "Where are the lights in this godforsaken place?"

Her search turned up nothing, and Erzebeth was happy to return to her home before sunrise. Though, if Erzebeth had looked just a little more thoroughly in the cellar, she would have found Zaccarias Oscow—or rather, what was left of him.

Ben turned around in bed, opening his eyes.

Shit! It couldn't have been more that six o'clock. Too early for breakfast, but too late to go back to sleep.

He pulled on some jeans and a shirt. He had showered the previous night, so no need to worry about that.

What would he have it that there was a knock on his door!

On answering it, he found one of the hotel maids standing in the doorway and holding a stack of washed towels.

"You know what time it is?" he crossed his arms, ticked off.

The maid raised an eyebrow and shoved the towels into his arms, storming off.

"Good morning to you too." Ben slammed the door shut.

The abrupt sound of Ben's door closing was what drew his neighbor, Lois out of her slumber. After making sure that there was no one shooting at her, Lois crossed to her bathroom and popped down an aspirin.

She didn't want to go to bed again, so she decided to take a walk around the hotel. Perhaps there would be other people out and about. It was a stretch, but it could happen all the same.

Locking the door behind her, Lois went downstairs and sat in the lounge.

It was a tad unnerving, the Weinbeck at night. By day it was such a merry place, though when darkness fell, it was eerie.

It was like that ride her son had dragged her on at Disney World last year. The tower with the insane elevator. She had gotten a fierce bout of heart trauma afterward. A trauma that she had soothed with a cold ice cream.

She moved about in her seat as she heard footsteps in the passage outside. She presumed it was just a maid or a porter.

Her nervousness crept over her, though, as the footsteps headed for the lounge. Lois felt about ready to leap behind a couch when the source of the steps entered: Nick Antoni.

They both gave off hushed cries on seeing each other. Nick was the first to recover himself, "Oh, it's just you."

"Yes." Lois clamped a hand to her heart, "Just you."

"What're you doing down here?"

"I couldn't sleep." Lois struggled to recover herself, "What about you?"

"I was just exploring."

"Did you find anything interesting?" she found that conversation helped calm her down faster.

"Not really. There's a terrible smell coming from the elevator. I tried to get inside to have a look, but the manager's made sure the doors were sealed tight."

"The elevator's still out of order?" Lois recalled with displeasure the time she had spent in the jammed elevator with Nick himself Tuesday morning.

"Seems like it."

"I think I'll go." Lois stumbled over her words as she hurried out, right past a very wierded out Nick.

As on the last day, the sunrise was obscured by dark clouds. There had been snow in the forcast and it was scheduled to start that night.

Selia sat up in bed and stretched. Eddy poked his head from under the sheets, "Morning, Ed." she yawned, "I'll feed you."

She stepped out of bed and pulled on her robe and a pair of slippers. Carrying Eddy into the adjoining room of the suite, Selia found her Mom flipping through a wedding catalog.

"Going shopping, Mom?"

Mom looked up in a shock, "Oh! Selia, good morning. I wanted to ask you: what kind of napkin rings she we go with? We have blue stones and green stones."

"Green matches the table runners, doesn't it?" Selia rubbed her temples. It was too early in the day to be talking wedding stuff.

"What shade of green is that?"

"I think they're forest green."

"These are about the same shade. Do you think I should call Joyce over and have her put her two cents in?"

"Give her some time to sleep, Mom." Selia giggled, "It's seven AM."

"Okay." Minnie shut the catalog with a sigh, "I'll go get dressed."

She slid into her section of the suite and out of sight.

Selia was proud of her Mom for putting up so well with Dad's running away. Really, she didn't need to put up with all this stress.

But after the talk they had all had yesterday, Selia was sure that everything would come together well. Her family would meld with that of her fiance's, and her wedding—and subsequent marriage—would go well as anything.

Selia went off to get dressed for the day.

Yvette pulled on a beige sweater, obeserving in the mirror how well it looked with her black pants.

She hoped to be alone today. After all of the talking and mingling she had done yesterday, she felt that it was best to have a breather. Christmas Eve was tomorrow and there would be plenty of time to socialize then.

As she made for the stair-well, she ran into the person she least wanted to see: Gloria Miller.

"Good morning." Gloria snapped her head amicably.

Yvette gave an assenting grunt in reply. In a brief half-second, she scrutinized Gloria. She was mousy haired, pale. Not unattractive, but plain enough to go unnoticed in a crowd.

Yvette wondered what it was about Gloria that had coerced Chris to dance with her last night.

The two girls went off towards the dining room and seperated once there, Gloria not understanding the murderous glare Yvette was aiming in her direction.

"That bacon looks peculier." Kathy pointed out as the rashers were placed before herself, Chris, Gloria and Lois.

The majority of the guests had assembled for breakfast, and the service had just begun. Lois poked at the bacon tentativly with her fork, "It's an odd color." she noted.

"Suppose it's stale?" Gloria shuddered.

"Doubt it." Chris told her, "It can't be that bad." he popped a piece in his mouth, crunching it hesitantly between his teeth.

Chris, who had a wide knowledge for meat and its flavors, found this bacon to be unusually tender. With a sweetness that could not be gained from mere salt alone.

"It's good." he nodded, "Have some."

The three ladies at the table one-by-one sampled the bacon.

"Oh, it _is _good!" Gloria was surprised.

"It's not pork, though." Kathy hastened to point out, "And definitely not turkey."

"Do you suppose it's one of those obscure meats that they don't put on the shelves in America?" Lois wondered.

"That's tourist speak!" Kathy said jokingly, not realizing that she was the pot calling the kettle black.

The guests at the Hotel Weinbeck enjoyed their breakfast, not even once considering that they were eating the cook.

Frances had lobbied once again to have Roger eat with her and Nick.

Once the dishes were being cleared, Frances had seperated from Nick and stood in the lobby with Roger.

"What are you doing today?" she asked him.

"Hanging around the hotel, mostly." Roger shrugged.

"Me too. I've seen enough of the village, and there's gonna be alot of snow coming this way."

Roger took the intiative, ignoring, for the moment, the warnings his siblings had given him yesterday, "Wanna come to my room?" he cocked an eyebrow.

"Sure." Frances smiled, getting the idea.

They hurried off, very excited.

"TOBLAR!" Hilda screamed as she charged into the kitchen.

Toblar's sous-chefs had informed her that Hans Toblar hadn't yet returned from his night off.

"That oaf!" Hilda kicked the wall, "Oh, he'll be fired for this one, all right! That's for certain! That fat hog won't be able to weasel out of things this time, I'll see to that!"

She lost much of her dignity in that moment as she hurried over to Herr Weiss' office.

"Yes, Hilda?" Igor tried to sound deadpan, but was unable to supress a light laugh.

"Hans Toblar missed work this morning!" Hilda spat every word out with such glee that she had not felt in years, "He never came back from his night out!"

She expected her boss to rise from his chair and declare Toblar unemployed, but instead he sat back and said, "So?"

"What do you mean, _so_?" Hilda was stunned.

"He'll be back by noon. Face it, Hilda. This wouldn't be the first time that he's drunk himself to sleep at the pub."

"Hmph!" Hilda harrumphed, turning on her heel and leaving.

Igor sighed. This job was far too repetitive for him.

Geraldine shifted in her seat. Deputy Gobler had literally _slept _on her doorstep through the night. This whole business was far too much for her. She didn't want Erzebeth getting into any trouble trying to help her, though she had insisted. Poor Maria was going to be kept until the whole damned murder was solved—if ever, at all. And, of course, the rest of Geimhave would be talking about it all until kingdom come!

The people in the village were very simple. Geraldine had to admit, she wasn't particularly special, herself.

But she had at least been able to see through the cold, life-sucking facade that hung over this whole place. Constable Carris was intructed by the mayor to keep the peace. Peace? What peace?

Dispite everyone's assertions, it wasn't _peace _that the citizens of Geimhaven had been enjoying for years, it was a carefully organized system constructed out of plain talk and some rules.

Constable Carris hadn't had to do any serious work since—well, since Ernst had burnt down the old inn. And now Ernst himself was dead, Geraldine was the prime suspect and so far only two people believed different.

She wasn't expecting any visitors today. She supposed she'd be left alone over Christmas. Honestly, they wouldn't actually _arrest _her!

Would they?

"_My love! My love!_" Selia switched her radio off. She's always been a sucker for those songs that no one else seemed to like, "_We both go down together_"

Mom had walked off and Walter was down the hall. All in all, she was enjoying herself. She had decided to forget about Dad leaving for now.

It was among the only things to be done. As the others had said, there was nothing to be done about it until after the holidays.

Walter tapped on the door, "Hello?"

"Hey you." Selia pecked him on the cheek, "How are you, soldier?"

"Alright. Joyce is freaking out."

"What's wrong?" Selia knew by the smile on Walter's face that it could be nothing serious, but still, she wondered.

"Roger's running around the hotel with his one-night stand."

Selia smirked, "You mean, he's actually _spending _time with her? Or are they just lying in bed again?"

"No. They're genuninlly spending time with each other."

"It's a miracle is there ever was one."

"Tell me about it."

He plopped down on Selia's bed beside her.

"Why don't we take a little page out of Roger's book?" he playfully tweaked her nose.

"I'll lock the door." Selia ran her tongue over her teeth.

Kathy, Chris and Gloria stopped in the Geimhaven cafe for a bit of coffee and some snacks. "Excuse me." Kathy stood up from the table, "Nature calls!"

She left.

Chris looked over at Gloria, "Do you want me to get you a refill?" he noted her empty mug,

"No, thanks. I never liked caffiene. Too much and I'm liable to pass out!"

They both laughed a little awkwardly, not even once suspecting that someone was watching from the window.

Yvette clenched her fists. This was insane! Why was she fretting so about Chris and Gloria-what's-her-name?

It was none of her business if Chris decided to branch out and aquire friends! Just because it was a process so unatural to her, didn't mean that no one else could do it!

But Yvette knew this feeling. It was love. And she had never liked love. Love betrayed her. Love demonized her.

She didn't need another Eli situation, no matter how keen Chris seemed to be with her. He didn't seem to have any more than thoughts of friendship in his head.

Yvette turned from the cafe window and gave a cry on seeing that she was face-to-face with a hideous old woman in a black over-coat.

"Sorry, dear." the woman croaked, striding past Yvette and into the cafe.

This place itself was mad! That woman looked like death itself!

"Excuse me! Out of my way, please! Sorry about that." Erzebeth picked her way through the cafe. She had been offended to no end by the way that blonde harlot had looked at her outside. Was she really that frightening? She had always thought that she had aged fairly well. But this was no time to fret about herself. She had to commence her investigation.

Ah! There was her victim!

Gerard Dietrich was sitting at the counter. He had left his post for an espresso, Erzebeth knew.

"Dietrich!" she snapped.

"Frau. Flaton?" Dietrich raised an eyebrow.

"Don't look at me like that!" Erzebeth sat beside him, "I just want to ask you some questions."

"And these questions are?"

"Have you seen Zaccarias Oscow this week?"

"You mean the handy-man? I saw him Monday afternoon. He was bringing the Christmas guests up."

"You haven't seen him since?"

"No. Why?"

"It's nothing." Erzebeth scowled to herself.

Maybe she _had _found a murderer in Oscow, after all.

Roger and Frances soaked in the hottub at the Weinbeck spa. They had gone down after breakfast, and Roger had to say that he was actually _enjoying _himself.

It was an odd feeling; to actually be having _fun _with a fling.

But Frances was so fun to be with, that Roger felt that he could be completely at ease. Frances didn't need to be impressed.

"So," Frances sighed as she luxuriated in the bubbling water, "you enjoying your week?"

"More than I usually would." Roger cracked a smile, he reached for Frances' hand under the water, "I'm starting to think that you're one of those angels in the Christmas movies who visit the drunk sap and teach him how to live."

Frances laughed lightly, "Oh, no—no. I'm just a publisher."

"And I'm just a spoiled rotten, rich-ass son of a bitch." Roger joked.

"Don't say that!" Frances gently kicked him, her leg meeting his thigh beneath the steamy water.

Roger winced, and put his arm around Frances, "Well, I guess you're not an angel, then."

"I'm far from it." Frances said coyly, "I'm a business-woman."

"Publishing is business?"

"Of course!" Frances played at looking put-out, "Making books is a _very _successful venture!"

"Is it, now?"

"Of course. I'm just struggling a little bit at the moment."

A spa atendent entered then and set to work, very close to the hottub, as she began putting a flower display to right.

"Why don't we head someplace private?" Frances suggested, eying the maid.

"Whatever you want." He hopped out of the tub and assisted Frances in getting to her feet.

They seperated into their respective changing rooms, and Roger set to pulling on a shirt and jeans.

As he was pulling on his socks, he noticed Ben Hastings strolling in from the weight-room.

"Hey, man." he rose and touched his fist to Ben's, "What's up?"

"The usual. Lifting heavy metal. That weight room's the shit, man. And there's no one else there. Awesome. What've you been up to?"

"Hottub. With the 'nice ass', you mentioned a few days ago."

"Francis?"

"Her name's _Frances_."

"I thought I heard stuff about that." Ben grinned, "Your family's been shouting it up and down the hotel."

"No, no, man." Roger flashed a secretive smile, "Frances is different. She's got potential this one."

"You scored, yet?"

"Yeah, yeah." Roger was dissmissive, "But she's _more than that_. I'd like to see her again after Christmas."

"Whatever you want, man." Ben shrugged, "Live life, be free, all you want. See you at dinner."

Roger waved him off, and Ben left, Roger taking the other exit, so as to meet Frances in the hall outside.

Emilia sat back in the lounge "_Ti amo—avresti con ti amo—_" She mumbled some snatches of a song that she had once heard in her youth.

She was in a devilishly good mood, today. Rudi had been eceptionally polite in the morning, though he'd snuck down to the village.

Emilia didn't care at the moment, though. Sometimes she did like being alone, without her henpecked husband dragging along behind her.

Emilia did admit it—though only to herself. She henpecked her husband, but it was for his own good.

Rudi wouldn't know what to do with freedom if it spat in his eye three times and bit his nose. He had brought her out of her 'humble beginings', away from her stuffy art-dealer parents to live in the house of her stout, good-natured Rudolph.

It was good that his name was Rudolph, Emlia mused to herself, his nose shone like a beacon when he was flustered or upset. But it was rather rude of her to think such things.

She looked up as the stately woman with the pleasent face took her seat on the window-bench across the room.

"Hello." she greeted Emilia.

"How do you do?" Emilia spoke distantly, barely paying attention. She noticed the book that the woman held in her hand, "Are you reading a novel?"

"Yes. It's _David Copperfeild_."

"Oh, I haven't read that since college." Emilia put on a smile, "Have you ever read _Walden_? Quite interesting, though not up to the standards of _Lady Chatterly_."

"Who?"

"You've never read _Lady Chatterly's Lover_?" Emilia's eyes widened, "Why, it's the most useful self-help book I've ever read! It really does teach one how to be wife. There is no better remedy for an unruly husband than some creativity in the bed!"

The woman gave a weak smile, and Emilia remembered the misfortune that she had had earlier in the week.

Suddenly feeling very awkward, Emilia gathered her things into her purse and left the room.

Maria looked over the array of clothes that she had packed neatly back into her suitcase on Tuesday.

That day, she had been anticpating going home to her family. Having a good Christmas, relating news of her article to her parents.

Now, she knew that she wouldn't be coming home anytime soon. She would languish in Geimhaven at least until New Year's Day.

The old matron that they had kept confined in her house would sit about, until either the real murderer was found, or until that foolhardy Constable Carris had her arrested.

Maria had never had a more miserable holiday, and she wasn't even the one suffering the full brunt of the affair!

She heard a knock on her door and went to answer it, revealing Frau. Flaton standing there, wearing an expression that Maria had never before seen on the old woman's face.

An expression of defeat.

"Is something wrong Frau. Flaton?" she paused, getting no answer but a sigh, "Erzebeth?"

"It's useless, Maria!" Erzebeth strode into the apartment and sat on the sofa, "Absolutely useless! I went to investigate Zaccarias Oscow's workshop this morning. He wasn't there! No one's seen him since Monday. If he _did _murder Reynald, he has no obvious motive. No, Maria." she looked into Maria's eyes, thinking for a moment, "Before I go on, could you put on a cup of tea?"

"Yes, certainly, Erzebeth." Maria bustled off to her fridge and set a kettle of water on the stove.

Whilst they were waiting for the water to come to a boil, Erzebeth went on, "If Oscow's been missing for all these days, and he has no apparent reason for killing old Reynald—what if he was killed too?"

Maria blinked, "No. No, that's not possible." she said, hushed, "Erzebeth, who would want to murder him? Definitely not Reynald's murderer."

"It is true that there hasn't been a murder in this village since God knows when, but all things have to start somewhere!"

"This is insane." Maria rose, "If you have evidence of a serial killer, Erzebeth, than we must tell Constable Carris! We could clear Geraldine's name, and warn everyone else, besides."

"Yes." Erzebeth was suddenly the confident, woman of action that she had always been, "But first, I do need that tea. Don't bother sweetining it, Maria, we've no time for that."

Yvette sat perfectly still in the gondola that was taking the guests back to the Weinbeck. Chris, Kathy, and that Gloria were also coming back.

They had been made to return to Mount Rancour, after being advised on the snow forecast for that night.

"Yvette, I didn't know that you were in the village." Chris had been suprised on seeing Yvette in the gondola port, entering shortly after him and his companions.

Yvette had hastily made up a clever lie, "I was taking a little walk around town. For my health." she had added the last sentence as an after thought.

Chris had responded with an, "Oh." and they had set off.

Yvette simply had to get over this ridiculous feeling of jealousy that she was harboring toward Gloria. Gloria and Chris were just friends. The case was the same with Yvette, herself. She had no right to pine after Chris, who was just a harmless, naive fellow who was trying to help her get a decent career.

How selfish Yvette was, sometimes! She just couldn't help but feel envy at happy people. She was shallow, and nothing more.

The gondola creaked to a stop in the Weinbeck port.

"Here we are!" Kathy pulled the door open. She held her watch to the light, "It's five-thirty. Ample time to ready for dinner."

She strolled off, followed by Chris and Gloria.

Yvette went out into the corridor behind them, not feeling at all good about herself.

Rachel locked the door of her shop. There had been precious little customers today. Just a few locals who had wanted supplies for the coming snowstorm.

Rachel wrapped her scarf around her neck, making sure that she was ready for the biting cold.

As she made her way up the high street, Rachel noticed Constable Carris bustling down through the side-streets, carrying a several sheafs of papers in his arms.

He seemed rather intent on something, or someone.

Rachel pondered this for a moment, but decided that as it had nothing to do with her, she ought to move on.

As she made her way up to her little house, she found herself bumping headlong into old Frau. Flaton and the reporter woman: Maria.

"Oh! Terribly sorry, Fraulein." Rachel and Maria helped Frau. Flaton to her feet.

Though, charactiresticly, Frau. Flaton went on as if nothing had happened, "It's quite all right, never mind, Rachel. Have you met Maria Bernadine?"

Maria smiled, though she seemed to have other things on her mind.

"No, I haven't." Rachel extended her hand to shake, "Hello, Maria. Rachel Bartow."

"Pleasure." Maria spoke in a far-off tone of voice.

Hoping to make some small-talk, Rachel addressed Frau. Flaton, "How is the demolition going, Fraulein?"

"What?"

"You told me yesterday, Frau. Flaton. You wanted to take out one of your walls, so you could have a sitting room."

Frau. Flaton blinked once or twice before seeming to remember, "Oh! Oh, yes. It's going very well, thank you. Now, if you excuse me, we have visit to make. Stay safe!" she began making her way off, Maria close behind her, "Be careful of the snow!"

Rachel gave a nod and went on, feeling as if she was being excluded from some kind of club, in which everyone knew what was going on.

Except her.

Joyce wrapped a shawl around herself. Deciding that she looked nice enough, she went down to dinner.

Roger, she noted, was eating with Frances and her brother again. Of all things!

Perhaps she had been wrong in yelling her brother down. He really seemed to be trying to extend his friendship, with Frances.

That was good. It meant that some of the old Roger stil remained. The part that had flourished when their parents were alive.

She herself sat once more with Walter, Selia and Minnie.

"It's shocking." she began the conversation, "Roger is _friends _with someone!"

"One small step for man." Selia joked, "One giant step for mankind."

Walter laughed into his glass, "As long as they aren't doing the nasty under the table, I tgink we can say this is landmark."

The group broke into laughter again.

So innocent—it was drawing near the time, though, when all innocence would be sapped from everyone.

Erzebeth charged to the the door of the Reynald cottage, Maria at her heels. Constable Carris had not been at the Constabulatory when they had arrived, and so Erzebeth had figured he had gone here.

Deputy Gobler was still at the door, though Erzebeth stormed into the house, ignoring his feeble protests.

Indeed, Constable Carris was there, standing over Geraldine Reynald and reading aloud from a printed document.

"—hereby place you under—"

He stopped suddenly, so as to look at the uninvited visitors. He creased his brow, probably making a mental note to fire Deputy Gobler, and dropped the last word of the document into the silence:

"Arrest."

Erzebeth had feared that this would be the case from the moment they found Carris' office was empty, though she was still determined to prevent the inevitable, "Constable, don't you even dare to arrest this woman!" she pointed her crooked finger, first at Carris and than at Geraldine.

"Forget it, Erzebeth." Geraldine sighed, "It's hopeless."

"No!" Erzebeth's voice creaked with the stress, "It is not hopeless! Constable Carris, I have further evidence!"

Carris cracked a half-smile at this, "Evidence? Have you come upion the 'actual murderer', then?"

"Not precisely, but I know for a fact that it wasn't Geraldine!"

Maria nodded, "We believe that there's been another murder, or at least a kidnapping or something."

"Quite right." Erzebeth agreed, "Zaccarias Oscow has been missing for most of the week. Rachel Bartow, his girlfriend, hasn't seen him since Monday, and neither has Gerard Dietrich. His workshop is empty, I checked it myself. Either he's left—and without telling anyone else, at that—or he's the second victim of some crazed—what was the phrase you used, Maria?"

"A serial killer."

"Yes, a serial killer!" Erzebeth pressed her lips together, waiting for Carris to gasp in horror, declare Geraldine free from custody and hold an investigation into the wider murders.

Instead, Carris said, "You broke into Zaccarias Oscow's workshop?"

"Oh, will you arrest me for that, Herr Constable?" Erzebeth lost all her respect forhim in that moment.

"No, I won't. We will send Fraulein Reynald to be incarcarated in down in the valley. She'll have her trial, and we'll take things from there. For all we know, Oscow just took off. Or," he thought for a bit, "She killed him."

Erzebeth could do nothing but stare on as Carris made Geraldine stand up, and put her hands in a pair of rusty, old cuffs.

The snow started at precisely nine o'clock that evening.

Constable Carris put Geraldine in the custody of Deputy Gobler, who was to drive her down to the valley.

Erzebeth's eyes were red, not with tears, but with fury at the injustice that she had tried to prevent.

Maria, too, looked miserable. Though, Geraldine knew that Maria would now be allowed to leave and return to her family in Milan.

The only automobile in Geimhaven—besides Zaccarias Oscow's broken-down bus—was the Constabulatory van, which was actually in worse shape than the bus, if that was even possible. Deputy Gobler opened the doors in the back of the van, which would be her holding area for the trip.

Geraldine was shoved none-too-gently into the compartment, as Deputy Gobler locked the doors behind her. There was next to no light, though Geraldine could see an old tool box and some sheets of tarpaulin lying about. There was a thick wall separating Geraldine from the van's cab, and a grate inset in it, so that Geraldine could get some view of the road through the windsheild.

Sighing, she listened as Deputy Gobler recieved further orders from Constable Carris, instructions on how to handle the prisoner in his custody. Geraldine heard the driver's side-door open and saw through the grate as the Deputy sat in the seat and revved the engine, which made a show of steaming and sputtering; very understandable considering how the Constabulatory rarely used it.

The van shuddered to life, and began it's decent from Geimhaven, down the lonely road, and to Geraldine's fate.

Oscar clasped his hands on the wheel, looking deterimedly ahead of him. He was hoping to impress Constable Carris by doing his job promptly; handing over the prisoner to the higher authorities, and getting back to Geimhaven before the snow got too out of hand.

Currently, it was just a light flurry. The little white flakes dancing in the wind, and coming down to rest on the cracked, old road.

In the back of the van, Frau. Reynald was making no noise. Several times, Oscar would look in the rear-view mirror to see her staring morosely at her cuffed hands. The poor, old bat! She definitely wouldn't be able to handle a prison—she was far too old.

But an officer's duty was always the same, no matter what his age, station or rank: respect and obedience to one's superiors.

Smiling a bit at this idea, Oscar leaned his head back and against the seat as he prepared to make a turn around a rather sudden bend in the mountain road.

What would he know it, that someone had place a sturdy plank right where the turn was to take place?

The van struck this plank, which must have had several old nails jammed into it, as both of the front tires were shredded almost instantly.

In the back of the van, Frau. Reynald let out a cry, and rolled against a wall. Oscar tried to brake, but the van was already out of control, careening over the bend in the road and down the rocky slope.

The van spun and tumbled along several times, snapping the ratty seat-belt that Oscar was affixed with.

The van finally stopped it mad decent, completely upsidep-down. Oscar fell to the bottom—or perhaps, top—of the van, and he knew no more.

Gloria turned around in her bed. She had gone up early from dinner, and had wanted to get a good rest before Christmas Eve, tomorow.

She was glad that she had people to spend the holiday with. Chris and Katby—Lois, too perhaps.

Gloria hadn't had a natural, normal, merry-and-free Christmas in years. She'd like to curl up by the fireplace, covered in a nice, wool shawl. Chatting with her new friends, as dinner was served in the next room.

She got up, and tossed her hair back from her face. Thinking was tiring—especiailly after the heavy dinner that she had had.

She heard some noise in the corridor outside, and put it down to just a maid or a porter or someone. That's one thing she had to say for the Weinbeck: the staff stayed invisible.

Gloria coughed a bit, drinking some water, to better relax her.

She needed to sleep.

But sleep would not come to her.

Geraldine opened her eyes in a flutter. She must have been knocked out in that terrible fall. The whole van seemed to have been turned upside down, though Geraldine was alright, except for some random scrapes and bruises.

The cuffs had hooked onto something, possibly a latch in the door or something from the toolbox.

Geraldine made quick work of using the latch to cut through the brittle metal.

Now free, Geraldine hunted through the toolbox and fished out a little pocket-flashlight. Switching it on, Geraldine shined the beam around her.

"Deputy Gobler?" she called into the stony silence, "Deputy Gobler?"

This was bad. _Very_ bad.

Geraldine scrambled over to the grate, which she now had to bend down to get to, and slid it aside.

She shone the light into the cab, and saw what had become of Deputy Gobler.

His body was splayed out across the compartment, his body was battered and scraped, and blood pooled from many wounds, crusting on the Deputy's uniform and on the walls around him.

Geraldine couldn't help but scream. He was dead, and she was stranded, out in the middle of nowhere.

Immediately, Geraldine began to make plans to leave, to hike out to somewhere.

She couldn't return to Geimhaven, oh no! Constable Carris would simply blame her for Gobler's death, and Geraldine would be accused of _triple murder_.

She could go on to the train-station in the valley, but heavens knows how much farther away that was from this desolate spot. It would mean a hike.

Geraldine hastily began to make preparations for her exit; she gathered some of the tarps about her. Her cardigan and skirt would do nothing to protect her from the icy cold and the snow.

Next she shook the flashlight a bit, so as to brighten the beam. She'd take out over the waists, she _would _find a way to get out of this mess.

She had a second chance.

A chance to wrestle out of the situation. To avoid being arrested and held in an unfair trial. Even if she had to live life as an outlaw, running all around Europe until her name was cleared.

She could manage it, she was sure. Geraldine wasn't _that _old.

She'd make it out of this.

Turning aside the latch in the van's back doors, Geraldine stepped out into the ever consuming darkness.

The snow was still falling gently down all around, and Geraldine noticed that the van hadn't fallen too far from the road.

It would a be a bit of a steep climb, though, and it wasn't like anyone else ever drove along that road—there would be no help for Geraldine.

She looked back at the van, which was already coated with a fine dusting of snow. The vehicle must have clambered over something in the road. That was the only plausible reason for the van's spinning in circles all the way down the slope.

Geraldine began to make her way up the steep mount, to the road. When she was about halfway there, she heard a light crunching.

Footsteps in the snow.

"Hello?" Geraldine called tentatively, "Is anyone there?'

In response, the figure came up behind her and struck Geraldine down with a crowbar. Geraldine fell to the ground, spread-eagled and vulnerable.

In the whirring snow-flakes, Geraldine could not make out who the figure was. It was far too difficult to make anyone out with the pools of red that were clouding her eyes.

Blood.

There was blood seeping out of Geraldine's head where the crowbar had hit her.

Geraldine threw her arms up before her face, knowing that whatever actions she took would be futile.

This lunatic that was assualting her for whatever reason, was a determined sort. The assaliant struck again and again, Geraldine's head was bashed open.

As her brain ruptured and blood flowed freely out onto the snow, Geraldine Reynald only had time for one last thought:

_She did not deserve this._

She had not killed her husband, she had certainly not killed Zaccarias Oscow.

She had done nothingn to merit this terrible treatment.

This assault.

This murder.

And thus did Geraldine Reynald die on the snowy ground.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5, Snap!

Disclaimer: Though the characters and setting are original, the premise is not.

A/N: Hey guys! Sorry for the lack of notes on the previous two chapters, but Document Manager had locked us out for editing and we weren't able to add any of the usual embellishments. Isn't it weird that we're only five chapters into this _Christmas _story and it's almost Easter? Oh, damn me and my writer's block! And one, two, here we go!

_Terrible things. Terrible, terrible, terrible things._

"No—no." Selia muttered, twisting around in her bed, "Don't!"

She twisted her legs up under her. The demon tendrils rose from the shadows in the corners and grabbed her, seizing her and dragging her beneath the sheets.

_Terrible things. No one would survive. Not one. Not one._

"No!" Selia sat bolt upright in her bed. Walter turned to her, grabbing her cold, clammy hand, "Selia? Babe, what's wrong?"

"I—" Selia shook his head, "Oh. Nothing. I just had a bad dream."

Walter kissed her firmly, "It's Christmas Eve."

"Y-yeah, it is." Selia nodded, "I need a hot shower."

She staggered to her feet and pulled on a pair of slippers and a bathrobe.

"Feed Eddy, hun." she spoke, falteringly, as she stepped into the bathroom.

Selia hated nightmares. They were so real sometimes.

Selia had always been plagued by terrible dreams. They had diminished in number upon being engaged to Walter, though they had started coming back in full-force now that Dad had left.

Selia turned the taps in the tub and stepped under the shower.

Christmas Eve! A day of relaxation. A day of happiness. A day to forget about all of the terrible things that happened in everyday life.

She had Walter. She had Mom. She even had Joyce and Roger—sort of.

All was well. No more dreams. No more terrors. No more darkness.

Chris stepped deftly down the stairs, Kathy right behind him.

"Beautiful day." Kathy chuckled, looking out the stairwell window at the snow, which had gained force during the night and was now coming down in steady sheets.

"We'll be kept indoors for Christmas, no doubt." Chris told her.

"Oh yes, no doubt at all."

They stepped into breakfast, finding that the dining room decorations had been made even more splendid over night. The lights on the great Christmas tree had been made bright and gold, and the stage-top Nativity was bathed in a pale, silvery light that radiated from the star hanging above it.

"Good morning, Lois." Kathy greeted the school-teacher, who already had a seat at their usual table.

"Good morning, Kathy." Lois smiled, before launching into a nervous rant, "Did you hear that frightful tapping noise last night?"

"What tapping noise?" asked Chris, getting some coffee from a waitress.

"On my window! I don't know if it was the snow or something else, but it went on all through the night. I didn't see anyone on the ledge, so—I don't know!" she nearly broke into hysterical tears.

"Lois!" Kathy admonished, "It's Christmas Eve. Do relax."

"I suppose. I guess it was nothing." Lois mumbled, a tad embarrassed.

"Chris!" and Yvette was upon them.

"Good morning, Yvette." Chris greeted her, joined by the two teachers.

"Hello, hello." she said, snapping words out quickly, "May I eat here?"

"I don't see why not." Kathy said, dragging over a seat from a vacant table.

Yvette sat, looking very excitable, "Christmas Eve! I've a big performance tonight—all manner of songs have to be sung. Chris, there will be a few duets. Would you like to sing with me, again?"

Chris shrugged, "Sure. Why not?"

"Oh, wonderful!" Yvette was clearly quite pleased, "Come to my room after lunch. We'll rehearse than, though I'm sure you'll see that most of the songs are familiar to you." she spoke very quickly, like a motor that was running like mad. Obviously, she wanted to spend time with Chris.

Chris, though, was a tad nervous. He was beginning to find that perhaps Yvette expected more of their relationship, rather than just a friendship.

He decided to address this with Yvette in private, preferably at their 'rehearsal meeting' that afternoon.

Rudi buttoned up his shirt. He had tried as best he could to stay away from Emilia all of the previous day.

She was getting tiresome, and he really didn't want to spend more time with his wife than was absolutely necessary.

As he made his way out of the room, he heard the tell-tale sounds of loud swearing: Emilia had gotten out of the shower and, as usual, had dropped something on the floor, most likely the bottle of shampoo.

Making no effort to disguise his haste, Rudi dashed out of the room, making his way down to breakfast.

Emilia dried her hair and examined the exquisite silks and satins that she had laid out on the bed, meant for the grand midnight party that would be held that evening.

She'd wear the fine gown the whole day, through, Emilia decided. Rudi might even be swayed for some alone time after the clock struck twelve!

"La, la, dah, la, la la—" Emilia hummed as she began to attire herself.

This would be a fine Christmas. Very fine. Rudi had no doubt gotten her another box of Parisian scents! Or perhaps a new summer scarf.

Any gift was good, really, so long as it attracted attention and made Emilia look more attractive.

Minnie looked out from the Weinbeck balcony, examining the snow. The beautiful snow. It was so white that it glistened, sparkling over the surrounding mountain tops, as though the peaks were kings draped in white mantle. If the mountains were kings, than Mount Rancour was the emperor amongst them, the Weinbeck Hotel the crown atop its head.

Minnie's eyes were dazzled by the whole spectacle, so much that tears welled up in her eyes. Wiping her face, she turned and saw Nicholas Antoni sitting in a deck chair at the corner of the balcony, which was protected from the snow by an overhang in the roof.

"Hello." she came upon him, "Nicholas, correct?"

Nick looked up from his laptop, "You've found him."

"I'm Minerva. You can call me Minnie."

"Hey." Nick looked her over for a moment before going back to his typing.

"Your sister tells me that you write." Minnie smiled.

Nick winced: an imperceptible warning to Minnie to not bring up his sister.

"What's the book about?" she asked instead, "May I hear some of it?"

Nick looked her over, appraising, before shrugging, "Sure."

Minnie waited while Nick scrolled to the top of the Word document that he currently had open, and began to to read:

"_Snakes and Lions. Chapter one_" Nick's voice gained energy, happy that he had an audience, "_It comes sometimes that, at our halfway point, we are met with that impossible choice. Family or future?_"

Minnie leaned forward with interest, taking a seat at the chair next to him. She never really had much of a chance to read a good book, so this was a fine treat. Nick, too, wasn't a bad writer in the slightest, and his prose was soothing.

What a Christmas treat! Sitting at the top of nature's rocky throne, looking over the sea of rolling white mounds that extended on and on into the unknown, the angelic voice of the reader lulling Minnie into a state of relaxation.

Such glory atop Mount Rancour. Soon, such blood would stain the steps of the Weinbeck, and great screams would bounce off of the Alps.

Soon. But not yet.

Ben stretched his legs out on the sofa. They had lit the fireplace in the night, and it felt good to just relax his muscles and snooze.

He opened his eyes a bit on hearing someone approach; that smoking hot singer babe. She was looking forlorn, running her fingers through her golden hair and adjusting her blouse with every step.

She gave a little start on hearing Ben's forced cough. She must not have noticed him on first entering.

"Hey." Ben cracked a smile, "Did I scare you?"

"No." she spoke, Ben noticing for the first time the light Austrian accent in her words. It was hard to hear the accent when she sang. She sat down in the chair nearest the fireplace and placed the accompanying cushion behind her head.

"It's Yvonne, right?" Ben said, just so she would look at him, and he could see her her hips pivot.

"Yvette. Yvette Schneider." she went back to staring at the fire.

"Oh. Where are you from?"

"Everywhere." was her dismissive reply. She added, "I travel. For my work."

"I'm from Boulder."

Yvette raised an eyebrow.

"It's in Colorado."

"Ah." she nodded.

"You sing nicely." Ben figured that they were in the flirting stage by this point, so some flattery couldn't hurt.

"Thank you." was her reply.

Ben tensed. This wasn't getting him anywhere. Maybe he should try talking about himself.

"Have you ever heard of Stan Media?"

"No."

"Well, he was a boxer. Kind of a local hero where I come from. I sparred with him in '08. Broke his nose, the whole nine-yards."

He beamed, hoping that Yvette would grasp the magnitude of this event.

Instead, she just said, "That's very interesting." in a tone that indicated that she wasn't very interested at all.

Ben gave a half-hearted chuckle before going back to his nap.

He really wanted to hook up with someone at this place. Apparently, it wasn't going to happen.

Joyce had decided to spend some time getting to know Frances, in an effort to find out if Roger really was serious about her being different from his previous flings.

They sat in the back of the dining room, where they wouldn't interrupt the wait-staff, who were tidying up after breakfast. Roger had gone upstairs to his room, likely to nap as he was wont to do on certain mornings.

All in all, this was a perfect time for conversation.

"So Frances, where do you live?" Joyce decided to initiate.

"My brother and I live in Vegas."

"So, I guess you're not used to this kind of weather." Joyce gestured to the window and the falling snow beyond.

"No, we're not. Roger tell me that you guys live in New York."

"Just outside the city, actually. It's the family home, though we don't spend much time there."

"You don't?"

Joyce frowned. _She_ had wanted to direct the questions, but it didn't matter, so long as her suspicions were put to rest. After all, Frances seemed like a nice girl so far.

"No, we don't. Walter likes to travel. He and Selia met on a cruise to Barbados. Roger—well, Roger does his thing."

"Lady's-man, huh?" Frances smirked.

Joyce flushed a bit, "Yes. I suppose he told you?"

"Oh, I knew from our first night together." Frances spoke as if she and Roger had known each other for years, when they had really only met on Monday night. Frances added, "The second night just affirmed things."

Joyce sighed. She knew all too well what had happened on Tuesday night—hell, the whole hotel knew by now.

"He gets around a lot, of course?" Frances didn't sound resentful of Roger's playboy lifestyle, just curious.

"He knows his way around." Joyce honestly didn't want to get into her brother's sex life with his girlfriend, so she changed the subject to something that didn't involve Roger, "Did you get your brother something for Christmas?"

Frances smiled, relaxing on the new topic, "I had already bought him something months ago, but earlier in the week I made him a second gift."

"You _made _one?" Joyce was genuinely curious, "What did you use?"

"Oh, I knit him something. It's a surprise though. I'll hand it to him tomorrow morning. What did you get your people?"

"Oh—well, I guess you'll see it tomorrow." Joyce smiled, "Now, if it doesn't make you uncomfortable, I'd like to talk a bit about Roger."

"I'm all ears."

"Do you—do you like Roger?"

"Oh, he's much more interesting than any of my old boyfriends."

"You feel he has potential?"

"Oh, yeah. He's just so sweet when he wants to be. And he just has that glow about him. Not like a glow, actually, he just really _stands out _from other guys that I've hung out with."

"So, you think he reciprocates these feelings?" she hoped she wasn't being too wordy. She wanted to come off as sounding natural and perfectly carefree, but it was clear from her language that she was eager for an answer.

"I guess so. Why wouldn't he?" Frances was a tad nervous.

"_Careful, Joyce_," Joyce warned herself, "_You don't want to scare off Roger's last bit of happiness_."

She said outloud, "Yes, I'm sure. He does love you very much." Was that too much? Joyce hoped it wasn't, "Well, it's been nice talking to you, Frances."

"Same."

With a quick nod, Joyce rose to her feet and left the room.

Roger lay in bed. He stared at his ceiling wondering to himself,why he felt so strange all of a sudden.

It had to do with Frances. Whenever he looked at her, into her hazel eyes, he felt weak in the stomach.

It was corny. Damned corny. Like something out of a trashy sitcom on the Disney Channel. But, could the feeling be love?

He _liked _Frances, sure. She was funny, free-spirited, wasn't at all stupid. She had a business of her own, and she was great in bed besides.

But did Roger _love _her? He'd always thought himself above romance. He was great at seduction, crumpling in amongst the bedsheets wit exotic women. Doing exotic things until three in the morning.

Though it had been ages since Roger had pursued a stable relationship.

He stretched, deciding that he'd find someone to talk to: Ben, Nick, Walter—maybe even Joyce.

He'd steer clear of Frances for a little bit.

He wanted to figure out where he stood first.

"Two days!" Hilda couldn't contain herself at this appalling turn of events, "Toblar's been gone for two days!"

Igor didn't look up from his paperwork, "Yes, yes. Very interesting. Hilda, I assure you that I'd go into the village to find Herr Toblar myself. But given the current state of the weather, and the current holiday, Gerard Dietrich has been given the weekend off until the time comes for out guests to return home. I am terribly sorry for the inconvenience."

Hilda bristled at the sarcasm in Igor's voice, "Herr Weiss, fire him in—in absentia!"

"I will not. When he returns, he will be fired. For all we know, he drunk himself unconscious Wednesday night, slept all yesterday, and can't return now because of the snow. Now, tell me, Hilda. Does that not sound like it makes sense?"

"Yes." Hilda grumbled, like a child who had just been told off, "I suppose you want me to direct the kitchen staff in Toblar's absence?"

"Certainly." Igor said matter-of-factly, "I'm sure you won't mind the extra work."

In other words: _You have no choice._

"Tonight's countdown party must be a success."

_So don't bungle things, if you favor your job._

Hilda grunted in assent and left.

Igor let out a deep breath and rubbed his temples. Just two more days. Come Sunday, all the guests would leave and things would go back to being dull and quiet at the Weinbeck Hotel. But where was Hans Toblar? As much as Igor pretended to be unfazed, he actually _was _getting worried.

Perhaps Toblar had up and left, on account to the treatment he faced at the hands of Hilda and even Igor, sometimes.

Toblar may have felt that he was taken for granted at the hotel, and had decided to move on to another venue.

What would Igor do then?

He needed a head-chef, the Weinbeck advertised and prided itself on the gourmet meals that they produced in their kitchen.

Yes, it was true. Running a hotel was not nearly as easy as Igor had first believed.

Rachel sat down on her window-seat, looking out at the snow-scape. It was a lovely sight—such a lovely sight.

All of the villagers had retreated into their homes, to spend Christmas Eve with their families and friends.

Rachel couldn't do that. She had no family left. And Zach—her friend, more friend than anyone else in Geimhaven, had left. Where had he gone?

Rachel figured that she would never know, however much she begged and begged for the answer.

It was strange, watching through a window. Rachel had never really thought about it before, but when one looked through a window, they were looking into another world.

Of course, all one had to do to get to that other world would be to step out the door. But Rachel was sitting in her warm, dry, dark house, but outside in that other world, it was wet and cold and pure white.

So simple.

But so marvelous.

There were sounds of bells tolling over the houses of Geimhaven.

The Christmas Eve mass was beginning. If Rachel had been a religious person, she would have braved the elements to attend the service.

But she had never had a faith. She thought religion vastly overrated. Zach would've gone to the mass. He wasn't a believer, per se, but he did handle the collection money.

He was gone. Gone in the drifts of snow that blew over Geimhaven.

Snow—snow that swept away memories.

Snow that consumed lives.

Gloria was looking for Chris. She'd have liked to have some time with her friend.

"He said that he'd be chatting with Miss Schneider." Kathy had told her, "He's performing at tonight's party."

"Oh." had been Gloria's response. She supposed that it was nice for Chris to sing. She wouldn't mind hearing him perform again.

She resigned herself to lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling.

Christmas Eve, and she was all alone.

That's how it always was, wasn't it? No one ever wanted to spend time with clumsy, plain, poorly dressed Gloria Miller.

She had thought—no, she had wished with all her heart—that Chris would see something in her. That they could continue their friendship, uninterrupted.

Maybe they could even become more than friends.

But no. He was swayed away from her, to spend time with that dreadful singer.

"Why?' Gloria whispered. The walls of her room provided no answer.

Men were impossible, sometimes. Gloria could never understand them. There had been Ben Hastings, who barely noticed her, not picking up on any of her careful hints.

There was Chris, who meant well, but couldn't understand anything.

_Why, why, why?_

Gloria swung her legs over the bed. She'd find someone to talk to. She'd prove that she wasn't a waste of space!

She'd start with Ben, as Chris wasn't available at the moment.

Determined as anything, she left her room and nearly tripped over an old tabby cat.

The cat hissed at her, spitting angrily.

"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry." she bent down and stroked the thing's head. She recognized the cat as the one that hung around the kitchen, "What's your name?"

As if it could answer.

Gloria made sure that the cat was alright and continued on her quest.

"_Oh, come all ye faithful. Joyful and triumphant! Oh, come ye—oh, come ye to Bethlehem._" Yvette led the song, tapping her fingers on the wood of her dresser. Chris sang along to his part, trying not to mess things up.

Yvette was enjoying this time spent with him. This really was too good to be true!

She would spend the whole night through singing with Chris. On stage! Right in front of that pestilent Gloria!

Yvette knew now that she loved Chris. More than he loved her—a lot more, as a matter of fact.

Chris needed to learn to recognize and respond to these feelings. He needed to learn how much Yvette loved him and how much he _should _love her.

This was imperative. It needed to succeed.

And what better way for mutual love to bloom, than in the act of song? Well, there probably were better ways, though Yvette figured singing was the most convenient.

"_Oh, come let us adore Him. Oh, come let us adore him. Oh—Christ, Christ, the Lord._"

Yvette ended her beat and smiled at Chris, "Beautiful! We should be all set."

She sat down on her bed and motioned for Chris to sit next to her, which he obliged to.

"Would you like to get a coffee?" Chris asked her, "We could hang out in the lounge. I could invite Gloria to join us."

Yvette creased her brow. Gloria Miller.

She didn't particularly _want _to see her. But perhaps she could find out some things about what made Gloria tick.

"That would be very nice, I'm sure." Yvette said, looking as happy as she could.

Her plan was set.

Lois and Kathy were conversing in the lounge.

"That snow," Kathy was saying, "is incredible. We in Virginia haven't had a White Christmas in—it must be three years."

"Oh, we get a lot of snow in Maine." Lois lifted her cup of tea to her lips, wincing a bit at the feel of the warm beverage on her tongue, "My son does the shoveling—when he's away from college, that is."

"What is he studying?"

"Film-making." Lois frowned, she didn't like discussing this subject, "It breaks the heart."

Kathy looked up from her cup, "You don't approve?"

"No, I can't say that I do. I'd have liked him to become something more _influential_. Like engineering or law."

"My niece, you know." Kathy said, "She wanted to be a police-woman. My sister, God bless her heart, wanted her to be a doctor. Now, I said to my sister: 'Little Jenny wants to do something with her life. Let her make her career choice. I bet you she'll do some good in the world.' And you know what, Lois?" she paused for half a second, but before Lois could answer, she went on, "Jenny is now a State Trooper back in Virginia!"

"But at least the police are _helpful_." Lois sighed, "Making movies doesn't help people."

"Oh, but they do help!" Kathy seemed surprised, "Lois, there's so many great movies out there. Movies teach people things and make them feel all sorts of varying emotions! Your son could be the next Spielberg!"

Lois smiled, "I suppose you're right."

They moved on to a new topic and their conversation progressed. Lois was drawn from talking as Kathy waved across the room.

Turning around, Lois observed that Chris, Gloria and the singer-girl were striding over to the love-seat in the rear of the room, mugs of coffee in hand.

Chris waved back to Kathy, "Hi, Kathy."

"Would you like to sit with us?" Kathy asked, rising from her seat.

Chris looked about to reply, but the singer—Yvette, Lois thought her name was—interrupted, "I think it would be lovely to get to know you ladies better."

"By all means, sit down." Kathy gestured them over.

The three moved over to them, and they continued to speak.

"Gobler?" Will called into the Constabulary's old two-way radio, "Gobler?"

The radio gave off only static in reply.

It did not particularly worry Will that his Deputy hadn't returned last night. It was likely that he was planning to remain in the valley until the snowstorm passed.

What worried Will was that Gobler hadn't responded to any of his check-up calls. Perhaps something had befallen his van, and the radio had been damaged. Or maybe the snow was just interfering with the frequency.

Yes, that was probably it.

No doubt, Will had nothing to worry about.

But there was still that nagging feeling that there was something wrong—

"Her Constable!" snapped a voice. The door of the Constabulary was thrown open, and Frau. Flaton stormed in, fire in her eyes, "This is an outrage!"

"What is it now, Frau. Flaton?"

"You've arrested Geraldine Reynald for double murder, that's what!"

"I am aware that I did that, Fraulein. Now, I have things to do."

"Well, I have a bone to pick with you, _Herr Constable._" Frau. Flaton spit the words out like venom, sarcasm leaking over every syllable, "You have no evidence, whatsoever, that Zaccarias Oscow was murdered by Geraldine Reynald. Hang it all, you barely have any evidence that Oscow was murdered at all!"

"I don't see why you are complaining, Frau. Flaton." Will didn't even look up from the radio, "It was _you _that brought the case of Herr Oscow to my attention."

"I brought it to your attention because that was proof enough that Geraldine didn't commit either one of the murders! She had no problems—not even an acquaintanceship—with Zaccarias Oscow. I understand, Herr Constable, that you are trying to keep the village from panic. But you cannot be fool enough to actually believe that you arrested the right person! If we have a homicidal maniac on our hands, we actually have to be prepared!"

Will raised his eyes to look clearly at Frau. Flaton. She was red in the face and panting after her lengthy rant.

"Goodbye, Fraulein."

Frau. Flaton huffed, "Then I'll handle this situation myself! I'll start by finding Oscow's corpse. We need to find out whether or not he is dead, I'm sure?" she waited for an answer, and on receiving none, replied, "Happy Christmas, Herr Constable."

And with that, she was gone.

Maria looked gloomily out her window.

Christmas Eve away from her family. She had tried to contact her parents in Milan, but the phone service in Geimhaven was rather dodgy due to the snow.

And as for cell-phone reception? It never worked in these mountains, even in fair weather.

This was terrible. Terrible! And if the information that Erzebeth had gathered was in any way valid, there was a serial killer somewhere in Geimhaven.

What to do what all of this information? All of this bother, tarnishing this most happy of seasons?

Suddenly feeling as though she were being watched, Maria drew the blinds on the few windows in her little apartment and made sure that the door to the corridor outside was locked and bolted.

She moved over to the fridge and took out some leftover lasagna.

This Christmas would likely be the most depressing thing she'd gone through in her life.

Selia spun around on her heel, showing her dress off to Minnie, "How do I look?"

Mom examined the willowy green dress, and smiled, "You look so much like me when I was your age. The only difference is that you're marrying a man who loves you."

Selia smiled, "Should I wear my hair up—or down?"

"Down, dear. You'll look more adult."

Selia noted the tears welling up in her mother's eyes. She lunged forward and grabbed Minnie in a tight embrace, "Merry Christmas, Mom."

"Merry Christmas, Selina." Minnie used Selia's given name, "And a happy New Year."

"I'm ready for this." Selia tossed her hair, "I'm going to go down there and dance with Walter."

"And in five months, you'll be dancing with him at your wedding." Minnie spoke softly.

Eddy trotted over to them, barking nervously.

"Yeah, Ed?" Selia bent down, "Something wrong?"

Little Eddy got up on his hind-legs and set to pawing on Selia's leg. Selia took pity on her puppy and lifted him up, caressing him gently, "What is it, boy?"

Selia looked into the beagle's wet, brown eyes and imagined that he was speaking to her. She had had much experience with beagles, and dogs in general, so this body language was instantly recognizable to her.

"_Don't go._" he was telling her, "_Don't go, Selina. It isn't safe down there._"

Selia thought she was thinking to much into this. How was she to know what Eddy was actually trying to say?

But that dream she had had last night—

Minnie touched her on the shoulder, snapping her out of her ruse, "Selia, honey, are you alright?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."

Selia set Eddy down on the floor, prepared him his dinner and left the room with her mother.

Frances looked around herself. The dining room was resplendent in bright lights, the ornaments on the tree glittering in gold, red and green.

The silver star over the Nativity set cast a soft light that enveloped the first few tables in the room.

Frances sat herself down, this time with Roger and Nick.

"I haven't seen you today." she remarked, off-hand, to Roger, "And I haven't seen much of _you _either." she looked accusingly at Nick, though her smile spoke more softly than her tone.

"I was writing for that oh-so-important New Year's deadline." Nick told her, stretching his legs out under the table.

"Believe it or not, babe," Roger winked, "I was asleep all day."

"Hungover?" Frances giggled.

"Nah. It's just that I hate snow." something in the way Roger spoke, alerted Frances that he was covering something up.

But this was a casual relationship, secrets were still perfectly allowed at this stage of the game. Than again, that conversation that Joyce had shared with her that morning, seemed to indicate that Roger's family wanted more to come out of Frances and Roger than just a few happy days spent together.

Nick struck up a topic on the terrible wine that had been brought to their table, bemoaning the year and cursing the vineyard that was responsible for it three times over.

Frances laughed at that and settled back into a state of calm.

This was Christmas Eve. What could possibly go wrong?

A lot of things, of course. But Frances didn't know that just yet.

Yvette and Chris mounted their way onto the stage, standing before the Nativity as had been the norm for every evening this past week.

"Are you ready?" Yvette whispered to him.

"Yeah." Chris surveyed the guests congregating at their tables, "It's not that bad of a crowd."

Herr Weiss dashed over to them from backstage, he leaned in close to Yvette and spoke to them, hushed, "Fraulein Schneider, a duet! How lovely. The performance will start in ten minutes' time, and we will stop for the countdown at five minutes to twelve. Understood?"

"Yes, of course." Yvette smiled, just wanting to be rid of this tiresome fool.

"Excellent!" Herr Weiss muttered, "Good luck."

He retreated backstage as the pianist took his place at his instrument, which stood to the far end of the stage.

They were ready.

Emilia twirled the stem of her glass between her fingers. The party had just begun and she was already quite drunk.

Rudi tittered audibly. When she wasn't pestering him for clothes and jewelery, his wife was sitting there, paying no attention to him, swigging down glass after glass of fine wine!

The attractive singer had a partner tonight, Rudi believed that it was the same man that had shared one song with her on Tuesday evening.

"Emilia, would you like some fish?" Rudi proffered some breaded filets.

"No!" Emilia snapped, slurring, "R-r-Rudi, go and tell the waiter that his wine tastes like horse shit!"

"Emilia, maybe you should stop drinking for now." Rudi pressed the issue gently.

"No!"

"_Madre Dio_." Rudi sank his head into his palm.

Ben sat at the bar in the back of the dining room, the rest of the guests were sitting further up, at the tables.

Yvette was singing. Damn, she was sexy. Why was it that no one on this trip was at all attracted to him. Except for the Gloria girl, at least. But she was far too plain.

He fingered the buttons on his dinner jacket, scanning the crowd.

It didn't matter, he rationalized. There were plenty of chicks in Boulder who were all over him.

Hilda leaned against the wall, in a corner of the room.

Igor scampered over to her, whispering in her ear, "The countdown begins in ten minutes!"

"And?" Hilda posed the question, "What am I to do?"

"You are to stay quiet, and make sure that desert is brought out promptly!"

"As you wish." Hilda crossed her arms, "I'll talk to the wait-staff."

She headed down to the kitchen, trotting at a brisk pace, so as to save time.

"_Noel—noel. Noel—noel. Born is the King of Israel!_" Yvette clutched Chris' hand, part of the performance, of course. But it was till a great feeling.

"_Noel—noel. Born is the King of Israel!_"

There was applause, and Yvette and Chris bowed.

Herr Weiss stole through the crowd and strode his way to the stage, "Thank you, Miss Schneider, thank you, Mr. Lewin. Thank you to all of you," he waved out to the guests, "for spending this week at the Weinbeck Hotel! In case you didn't know, I am Igor Weiss, and I have managed this establishment since it opened some years ago. We have been holding this Christmas party every year since then. Now, a tradition we have every year at this party is the placing of the Christ child in the manger."

A staff-member emerged from backstage, holding the life-like mannequin of the child of Christmas.

"It is a great honor," Weiss went on, "to place the child in his place at midnight Christmas Day. And this year, that honor goes to none other than our first ever public performer: Yvette Schneider!"

There were more applause, and Yvette took the child from Weiss with a 'Thank you.' This was rather cheesy, Yvette thought, though she figured it was nice that she was allowed—but who else would have gone anyway? It must have been a random drawing.

"I'll start the countdown!" Weiss stood center-stage, "Ten. Nine. Eight—"

The others in the crowd below them counting along, "Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One!"

Yvette set the Christ child in the little wooden bin; as she did so, she could have sworn that she hear a barely audible _snap. _But everyone was clapping too loudly to be heard.

Yvette suddenly felt a dreadful foreboding, as she felt a cold _whoosh_ of air right behind her.

The glorious, silver star above the stage had fallen like a stone from it's post, ripping through the air.

In the split second in which it was falling, Yvette noted how sharp the bottom spire of the star was.

And, this sharpness was then demonstrated, when the star struck the head of Igor Weiss, who hadn't even had time to look up to see his fate meet him.

A/N: Yes—we did kind of borrow from old man Wellington's death, didn't we? Well, I wanted to have the murders revealed to the public by this chapter and I thought: _How to attract the attention of the other guests in a way that's suitably shocking?_

I decided that doing a variation on Thomas Wellington's death in the show would do. Though as you'll see next chapter, this star will treat Weiss far worse than the head-spade treated Wellington.

Update Coming Next Friday!:)


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6, Crash!

Disclaimer: The story and characters are original, but the premise is not.

A/N: Happy Friday! So here's chapter six, and as I said on the newly posted chapter of the Wicked Carnival, I'm rather too tired for witty banter. Let's star!

The star tore through Weiss' body, ripping it completely in half and scattering blood and bits of sinew and tissue every which way.

Yvette fell back over the Nativity manger, blood spraying over her front, flecks of red sticking in her golden hair like bits of rusty metal.

The two halves of Igor Weiss were splayed on the stage, the star jammed into the floor between them, still vibrating from making contact with the flat surface.

Chris was also covered in blood, and after recovering from the initial shock, ran over and helped Yvette to her feet.

Yvette felt something warm and wet streaming down her face. Fearing it was blood, she wiped at her cheeks and found them to be tears. She was crying, crying so that she barely noticed: she was so shaken.

The guests at the tables below them were in states of panic as well. Selia screeched as streams of Weiss' blood flowed off of the stage and pooled on the floor before her table.

Walter held her, face stony gray with nausea as he tried to keep himself from throwing up.

Minerva rose and clutched at her daughter's hand, partly to comfort her and partly because she was repulsed at the gory sight that lay before her.

Frances couldn't find the voice to scream, and only a hoarse cry escaped her lips. Roger, staring wide-eyed at the stage, grabbed for her hand, whilst Nick steadied himself on his chair, feeling quite sick, himself.

Kathy pressed her hand to her heart. When the star had first fallen, she had feared for a moment that it had stuck Chris, but Weiss' corpse, while not as distressing as Chris' would've been, was not a pleasant sight to see. Lois, sitting next to her, was screaming her head off, burying her head in a napkin to shut out the spectacle.

Gloria had actually passed-out. She had never seen so much blood in her life, and had certainly never seen someone _die_ before. She was slumped in her chair, still and unmoving, her breaths escaping her in quick, unsteady gasps.

Joyce looked from Roger and Frances to Walter and Selia, not comprehending what had just happened. She sat back in her seat, her eyes clouding with distressed tears.

Emilia's screams were by far the loudest—even more ear-piercing than those of Yvette, who was first witness to the event. Rudi held her to his chest, letting her shield her eyes, and thinking that the sight had at least sobered her up some.

Ben was the first to take action. He had had to deal with a sudden death in the past: when his friend Steve Machale, had had a heart-attack at his sister's wedding. This was far worse. He ran up to the stage, and spoke to Yvette and what's-his-name, "Get down from here. We can't tamper with the evidence."

He was surprised at himself that his voice remained so steady, but the guy—'Lewin' was apparently his surname, if the deceased was to be believed—took Yvette by the arm and led her down from the stage.

Hilda gaped. She could barely comprehend what had happened. Herr Weiss was dead? Her employer. The man who had put up with her and her stubbornness—whilst still being rather stubborn himself—for years!

But, she knew she had to take charge. She was now technically the new manager of the Weinbeck Hotel, and it was her job to calm the panicking staff and the hysterical guests. She had to take order.

She crossed to the front of the room, standing before the stage, and spoke in her loudest of voices, "Please, ladies and gentlemen, remain calm!"

The screams and sobs did not cease, though they _did _cut down a bit.

Hilda went on, "This is indeed a terrible tragedy, I know. But we must stay calm. I would ask the wait-staff to escort the guests to the lounge, and keep this room under lock-and-key. I would also ask that no one touch _anything _in this room on your way out. I will phone the village at once and will call for the local Constable."

She waited as the staff led the guests out of the dining room, and then left, herself.

"Oh, my God." Selia croaked out for the fifth time since they had all sat down in the lounge, "Oh dear God."

Walter held her, letting her rest her head against him. He was pretty shaken up himself. As a matter of fact, he couldn't stop his hand from trembling.

Kathy saw how distressed Selia seemed to be and rose from her seat, proffering a Kleenex out of the pocket of her evening-gown, "Take this, dear." she said softly, "I'll send for some hot tea."

She went over to the door and began to speak with the porter that had been stationed there to watch them.

Yvette lay her head in her hands, fingers running over tracks of dried tears and dried blood. Chris kept his hand on her shoulder, while speaking to Gloria, whom they had had to revive with bit of ice water.

"It's alright." he told her, looking down at the blood that stained his dinner jacket and tie, "Just take some deep breaths. You can't knock yourself out again."

Gloria spoke, voice a mere whisper, "It's just—oh, terrible! That star could have hit anyone on that stage. It could have hit you!" she spun toward Chris, eyes wide and dull with anxiety.

"I know. I'm lucky it missed me. It nearly got Yvette, as well." he spoke softly enough so that Yvette couldn't hear him, though he was quite sure that she wasn't listening.

Ben was the only one among the guests who was standing. He leaned against the mantlepiece, looking at the pitch black outside, lighted only by the white snowdrifts blowing by them in the wind.

"It's freaking one in the morning." he hissed, "One in the morning on Christmas Day, and we're stuck in the _Clue _mansion!"

This remark was met with icy glares from the others. Ben shrugged and went back to staring at the wall.

Lois ran her fingers through her hair more times than she could count. She had never seen such a dreadful sight in all her life! That poor man had just been run through with the star. And at Christmas, no less!

She leaned her head against the back of her chair and let out a tremulous sigh.

Will woke to the sound of the phone's ringing. Who would be fool enough to call at this hour? Besides, the phone service was out.

He moved from his office, where he had nearly fallen asleep, and picked up the old phone, putting it to his ear, "Hello?"

There was an awful lot of static on the line, but the voice come through, for this was not a call from particularly far away.

"Constable Carris speaking." Will spoke through the phone.

A crackly, female voice reached him, "Herr Constable, this is Hildregarde Vishtko; the chief of staff at the Weinbeck Hotel."

"Yes, Frau. Vishtko," Will said, he had never really had any encounters with this woman, but he had heard of her and her impatient nature, "what is the matter?"

There was a short pause, as if Frau. Vishtko was considering exactly _what _kind of emergency this was. At last, she said:

"There has been a terrible accident, Herr Constable."

"Oh?" Will figured that someone had fallen down the stairs or something of that nature, "What kind of accident?"

"The manager, Igor Weiss," Frau. Vishtko drew breath, "he's dead. Sliced in half by a Nativity prop, as a matter of fact."

Will's eyes widened in shock, "I'll be there straight away. I'd normally send my deputy but he hasn't come back yet from the valley."

"Yes, yes, of course, Herr Constable. Do get here quickly. The guests are having a panic."

"Certainly." Will hung up and ran to get his supplies from the stock room.

He hadn't a minute to waste.

Gerard was roused from his sleep by a heavy banging on his door. Looking at the clock mounted on his bedroom wall, he noted that it was ten minutes past one.

Blast and botheration! Didn't anyone realize that he was off for the holiday?

He pulled on his dressing gown and opened the door to a flurry of snowflakes that blew into his house, most of which he was forced to swallow.

Standing in the doorway, was none other than the town Constable, whose name Gerard had trouble remembering.

"Yes?" he asked sleepily, trying to sound annoyed.

The Constable didn't answer, instead letting himself into the house and shutting the door behind him. Gerard scowled at the soggy mess of melting snow on his wooden floorboards, but looked back up at a cough from the Constable.

"Is there something that you desire, Herr Constable?"

"I need to get to Mount Rancour at once. I am wanted at the Weinbeck." he waited, scrutinizing Gerard with his beady eyes, "You do manage the gondolas, correct?"

"I do. But what is the great urgency?"

"None of your concern, Herr—"

"Dietrich."

"None of your concern Herr Dietrich. I just need to get there as soon as possible."

"Very well. I will need to get dressed."

"Well be quick about it."

Gerard felt rather uncomfortable leaving this man standing in his living room, but he couldn't very well make him wait outside in the storm, could he?

Quickly, Gerard attired himself in warm clothes, and seized the key to the gondola port.

He returned downstairs, and said to the Constable, "I'm all ready. Let's go."

They trudged up the high street, being bombarded on all directions by the snow, which was turning more and more into a blizzard with every gust of wind.

When they reached the gondola port, Gerard found that the door was unlocked, though it had been closed firmly. Not wanting to mention his lax workmanship to the Constable, he pretended to open the door and led the law-man inside.

Only one of the two gondolas was in port down here, the other one being in the port up at the hotel. Gerard opened the door and, making sure that the Constable was properly settled inside, turned the generator on, and released the gondola.

He was unsure as to whether or not the Constable would be able to make it back. It would already by a dangerous enough journey up to Mount Rancour with all the wind, it would probably be worse by the time he had to return.

It must have been something very urgent that had called the Constable so quickly up there in these conditions.

But what bothered Gerard the most, was that he would have to wait here in order to send the Constable back down. Lord knows how long he'd be cooped up in this little hut of a room.

Hilda stood in the chilliness of the hotel's gondola port, waiting for Constable Carris to arrive. She had had to open the collapsible door to the outside in order to let the gondola in, and presently, all that was entering the building was snow.

At last, the dark red gondola waved and wobbled its way into port, and Hilda pressed the button to close the door behind it.

Constable Carris stumbled out of the gondola, looking green in the face.

Hilda paused, unsure of how to address someone at this early hour of the morning. Instead she said, "I trust the storm made it a difficult journey, Herr Constable?"

"Yes." Carris responded to her, voice heavy, "Very unpleasant."

"Shall I have a coffee made for you?"

"Please."

Hilda nodded, "I will send for a cup, at once. In the meantime, I imagine that you would like to see the body as soon as possible?"

Carris looked as if he'd rather do anything else in the world, but said, "Of course. Where is it?"

"In the dining room. I'll take you there."

"Frau. Vishtko, correct?"

"Yes." she spoke dismissively, leading the Constable off to the scene of the crime—or incident—or whatever one could call it at this early stage.

It was a gruesome sight that awaited Will in the dining room. The blood was already congealing, and the two halves of the corpse already stank of putrid meat.

"Wish I had my stuff up here." he told Frau. Vishtko, "Unfortunately, it's too cumbersome for the gondolas."

"What do you make of it all?" Frau. Vishtko stepped aside as Will climbed onto the stage. The Nativity figures were blood-stained; an eerie sight.

"Frau. Vishtko," he began, "Please tell me exactly _what _happened just before the star fell."

"Our hired singer: Yvette Schneider, was placing the Christ child in his manger."

Will looked at the wooden tub of straw, the baby inside had averted the blood, probably because he had been put down just in time. Will lifted the mannequin and noted that there were two halves of a semi-transparent wire spread across.

"A trip-wire?" Will breathed, barely believing what lay before him.

"A wire?" Frau. Vishtko was suddenly quite faint, "You don't mean—?"

"Yes, I'm sorry, Fraulein." Will ran his hands down his face, "Your employer was murdered."

"_In the jungle—the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps tonight._" Ben drummed his fingers against one of the end-tables, as he sang quietly to himself, mainly just to annoy the others. It was working.

"For heaven's sakes, please be quite!" Kathy was flustered, "You seem to have forgotten that someone's just died!"

Ben chuckled, "I'm just trying to calm the nerves. Oh, and by the way:" he counted five seconds on his fingers, "About twenty people around the world just died."

"Such levity!" Kathy whispered to Lois, who nodded in agreement.

There were footsteps in the corridor outside, and Frau. Vishtko returned, leading a tall, skinny man in a black uniform: the local Constable.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Frau. Vishtko began, "This is Constable Carris."

Carris looked around at them all, as if mentally summing them up—which, perhaps, was what he was actually doing, "Evening."

Frau. Vishtko went on, "He would like to have a few words with each of you, individually, regarding the incident."

Emilia rose from the loveseat and went off on a panicked tangent, "What's the meaning of this? Interviews? My husband and I are Italian citizens—we have diplomatic immunity!"

"In the case of murder, Signora," Carris replied coolly, "I believe one would make it their personal duty to provide necessary information that might aid in the solving of the case."

"Murder!" Gloria gasped. Rudi took his wife's shaking arm and led her back to her seat, "Of course, Herr Constable," he said, "Emilia and I will do all that we can to help in the investigation.

Carris gave what might have been interpreted as a smile, but it was gone in half-a-second, "I would first like to speak to a—Yvette Schneider."

Yvette looked up, her blue eyes puffy with tears, and her red performing dress still covered in darker red splotches: Weiss' blood.

She rose, and crossed to Carris, who turned to Frau. Vishtko, "Is there a private place where we can speak alone?"

Frau. Vishtko thought for a moment, "Herr Weiss' office. I doubt anyone will want to go in there anytime soon."

Yvette looked around at the dingy little room that was apparently to be taken for an office. The dim lights stung her sore eyes, as did the shocks of white snow thrown up against the window panes.

Carris sat behind Weiss' desk, gesturing to Yvette to take one of two seats on the opposite side, "Fraulein," he started, his voice cool and efficient, "I know you might not wish to talk about the—murder that you witnessed first hand, but it is vital to the investigation that you divulge your facts."

Yvette spoke, her voice a feeble whisper, "Of course."

"Yes. We will start out with some background information. You were hired as a singer for this party?"

"Yes, I was engaged by letter."

"You arranged the business yourself?"

"No." Yvette's voice grew even softer. She didn't want to have to talk about _this _part, "I had an agent. Eliezer Groman."

"'Had'? What happened to him?"

"He left. We had a fight on Monday night, after my first show here." That was all she was going to say on the subject. Carris didn't need to know any more than that.

"He left Mount Rancour, you mean?"

"Yes. I suppose he's gone back to his little house in Vienna by now."

"What time of night was this, exactly?" Carris' voice took on new interest. Why?

"About eleven o'clock."

"The gondola port closes at nine." Carris stroked his upper lip, "Are you _quite _certain that you didn't see him the him the next morning?"

"No. But," Yvette suddenly remembered, that little passing event that had occurred at Wednesday's hike, "I found his hat."

"His hat?" Carris leaned forward, unable to disguise his haste, "Where?"

"We were on a hike. It was in the pine forest. Just off of the trail. It's still in my coat pocket."

Carris nodded, biting his lip in agitation, "What kind of man was this Groman?"

"He was hot-headed." Yvette went on, honestly wanting the subject to change. Carris couldn't really believe that Eli was Weiss' killer? No, Eli was far too stupid to orchestrate something like that, "Rash. He didn't really think before he acted."

"Hm. Fraulein, we come now, to the events of this evening. You had finished your performance, and Herr Weiss gave you the child to be placed in the manger."

"Yes, that's right."

"When you put the mannequin in the manger, did you see or hear anything unusual?"

"I—I heard a snapping sound. Like the sound of a string breaking."

"That agrees, than."

"What?"

"When I made a cursory examination of the crime scene, I discovered a severed wire had been strung across the top of the manger. It must have been set to break when the child was put inside, releasing the star."

Yvette paled, "It almost got me. Do you think—" she broke off.

"Yes, Fraulein?"

"Do you think, maybe, that the star was meant to hit _me_?"

Carris thought, "No. No, Fraulein. More than likely, someone wanted Igor Weiss dead."

"When will we be leaving this place? I really can't stand this dreadful mountain any further!"

"As soon as I am finished interviewing you all, you will go back to Geimhaven. And from there, back home. It is a pity, that this had to happen on Christmas."

"Yes." Yvette's eyes glazed over, "A pity."

Carris jotted some notes down on a little pad that Yvette had not noticed in their conversation, "If you would be so kind, Fraulein, please send for—"

He looked over the dining room seating plan that lay before him, "Walter Adams. It appears that his table was the closest to the stage. He might have seen something that you could not."

Yvette nodded in assent and left.

It was nonsensical idea, surely. Eli couldn't be the murderer!

Could he?

Walter stepped into Carris' office.

"Herr Adams." Carris began.

"Yep."

"Please sit."

Walter obliged.

"Tell me, Herr Adams, how did you come to be a guest at this hotel?"

"I'm getting married in May, you see."

"Ah, congratulations." Carris didn't sound particularly impressed.

"Thank you." Walter said all the same, "I decided that, before the wedding, I'd bring us all on a Christmas trip. Me, my fiancee, Selina, her parents and my brother and sister."

Carris looked over the guest list, "Joycelyn and Roger are you siblings, correct?"

"Yes."

"Now, your fiancee's family. I only saw one woman sitting with her earlier. Is that her mother?"

"Minerva. Yeah."

"Where is her father?"

"That's kind of a personal question." Walter fidgited in his seat, "I wouldn't feel comfortable answering it without Selia's permission."

Carris remained cold and to the point, "Herr Adams, in the course of detective work, there is no time for things like permission and consent."

Walter sighed. He didn't want to do this to Selia—but this sharp-faced man with the equally sharp tone would probably have _him _detained for cheek. And that would hurt Selia even more, "Her dad, Richard, he's always had a bit of a rocky relationship with her mom."

"Go on."

"Well, on Tuesday, Minnie and Richard had a fight. He was gone by dinnertime."

"He just up and left?" Carris grew pale suddenly, flipping to the previous page of his notes. Wiping some sweat from his brow, Carris went on, "He could not have left. He was present at dinner, correct?"

"No. He made a brief appearance at the bar, but left shortly after."

"What time was that?"

"I don't know." Walter was getting quite fed up with this pigeon-breasted ass, "About ten o'clock—ten-thirty. I don't know."

"The gondolas aren't open at that time in the evening."

_Now_, Walter showed interest, "But he wasn't in his room. His bags were gone and everything! He had even left a note!"

"May I see this note?"

"Minnie's kept it somewhere." Walter sighed, "Either that, or she burned it in the fireplace."

Carris shook his head, "Well, we are taking quite some time." he looked at his watch, "We will finish this conversation, Herr Adams, on the subject of tonight."

"Okay." Walter waited a few moments for Carris to open his mouth and speak.

"You had the table nearest the stage, correct?"

"Correct."

"Who sat with you?"

Walter scoffed. The jackass would already have known! The seating-plan was right in front of him! He said anyway, "Selia, Minnie and my sister."

"Your brother did not sit with you?"

"No. He was behind us, with the Antoni twins."

"Indeed. When the—star fell, did you note anything surprising, or out of the oridinary?"

Walter thought to himself, "_You mean, besides a falling stage prop and a man being split in half?_"

But instead, he said, "No. Selia was kind of hysterical. She's never liked the sight of blood and—well, that was a lot of blood."

"That is all you can say about the murder?"

"Yes."

Carris nodded, "Very well. You may go."

"Should I call for anyone else?"

"Not at present. I will interview the other guests later. For now, I will make a search of the hotel."

"Alright." Walter waited for some kind of invitation to leave.

Receiving none, he left the office of his own accord.

Lois ran her hands through her hair, skittish as a dormouse. Kathy had dropped off to sleep in the chair next to her, though the same could be said of almost everyone else in the room. She was worried. This sort of thing was definitely out of the ordinary. It might prove to be dangerous. That Constable seemed convinced that the manager had been murdered.

Lois couldn't stop fretting.

What if the killer was still in the hotel? What if the madman was lurking about somewhere? Somewhere close?

Oh dear, it was too terrible to even think about!

Lois wanted nothing more than to curl up and go to sleep right then. But it was unsafe—and the Constable wanted them all to remain in the lounge.

She looked around her, taking in the snow on the windows and the other guests, some silent, some chattering in hushed tones.

Nightmarish. Terrifying. Inescapable danger.

Lois couldn't shake the feeling that the menace was still present.

And it wanted her.

Roger took Frances' hand in his. Dear God, she was shaking like a leaf!

But she was strong. She has recovered from the initial shock. Her brother was holding a cup of coffee, perfectly composed, but for the nervous glimmer in his eyes.

"How are you holding up?" Roger turned to Frances, who looked at him, her hazel eyes dim.  
"I'm alright, thanks." she looked at Nick, "How are you?"

Nick flinched, "Fine." he rubbed his hand down his sister's arm, "I'm just a little lightheaded."

Roger gave Frances' hand a reassuring squeeze, before looking up at the sight of Constable Carris reentering the room.

"I'm sorry that you've all been kept up late." he said, "But you may go to your rooms to sleep, now."

Signora DeStefano spoke sharply, "When will we be leaving? I don't want to stay atop a mountain with a murderer!"

"You will leave on the gondolas tomorrow, provided that the weather lets up."

"You don't wish to interview the rest of us?" her husband asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No. I feel it is unnecessary. In the morning, however, I will obtain your addresses and telephone numbers, lest you need to be contacted in future."

"Is there a likelihood of that happening?" Gloria's voice wavered.

"No. But it is a precaution, all the same. I bid you good night."

They were dismissed.

"Selia—Selia, come on. Speak." Walter looked at his fiance, who lay over the bed-covers, her shoes off, but her evening dress still on, "You have to undress, at least."

"Walter—Walter, I'm scared."

"I think we're all a little nervous." Walter dropped onto the bed next to her, wrapping his arms gently around her torso.

"It's just—all that blood! And the guts!" Selia retched, and Walter reached for a tissue from the box on the nightstand.

"Selia, it's alright." he kissed her, planting his lips softly against hers.

She waited a while before saying anything else, "Yeah. At least it wasn't any of us!"

"That's the way to think!" Walter hugged her, "See you on Christmas."

"It already _is _Christmas!" Selia laughed in a breath, looking at the clock which read four o'clock.

"So it is." Walter nodded, "Than Merry Christmas."

They kissed again.

And they slept.

Will watched as the last of the guests ascended the stairs, to their rooms above. This worried him; two guests missing—an article of clothing from one of them found on the mountain-top. This, combined with Weiss' murder, Oscow's disappearance, and of course the still suspicious death of Ernst Reynald, led Will to come to one, very frightening conclusion:

He _had _arrested the wrong person. Geraldine Reynald must have been innocent. Surely, Reynald was killed by the same person who had done Weiss in—and possible Eliezer Groman and Richard Lewis. Maybe even Zaccarias Oscow.

He would have to contact Deputy Gobler in the morning. Tell him to retrieve Frau. Reynald from her holding cell. It appeared old Flaton was right—he was unsuitable as a man of the law. His work was more suited for a politician's podium.

His current objective, of course, was to determine whether or not this homicidal maniac was still on Mount Rancour. More specifically, at the Weinbeck Hotel.

Frau. Vishtko had told him that the elevator had been out of order for most of the week, after a small series of malfunctions on Tuesday. That struck Will as important: what better place for someone to hide than in an elevator shaft?

He approached the elevator doors on the ground floor, just off of the lobby. One press of the button to the side of the doors. The elevator itself was supposed to be stopped at the ground level, anyway. From there, he's be able to see the whole space.

The doors opened with their little _ding_. Will reached for the flashlight at his belt, and switched it on, shining it around the elevator, until it came to rest on the emergency exit trapdoor in ceiling.

"There we are." Will murmured, readying for some grunt work. Luckily, he was tall enough to reach the trapdoor without stretching very far. He turned the latch and the door pushed open—though there seemed to be something weighing it down slightly.

Whatever the thing blocking the trapdoor was, it didn't seem to want a fight. Sighing, Will resigned himself to the fact that it was absolutely imperative to see what was on top of this confounded contraption.

He clutched either side of the open space in the ceiling and swung his way to the top of the car. What he saw shocked him.

It was a man. A dead man. He was wearing khaki trousers and a traveling jacket, as though he had been planning on going outside. The thing that had been blocking the trapdoor was a little suitcase. The body itself was battered, smashed in. Clearly it had fallen from high in the shaft.

Fallen—or pushed.

This must have been one of the two missing guests! Probably not Fraulein Schneider's agent. This man looked too old for that. It must have been that weeping girl's father: Richard Lewis.

Will shined his flashlight around the shaft above him, looking for any nooks and crannies where the killer might have liked to hide himself.

He found one. A narrow crevice in the side of the chute, about a floor-and-a-half above him. It looked man-made, though _who _had built it was a mystery.

He'd search that crevice further in the morning. Before that, he had to inform the Lewis' of their loss.

"I want out, Rudi! Out!" Emilia's hands were shaking as she rubbed her moisturizing lotion on her spindly hands.

Rudi, already half-asleep in the bed, looked at her, "We leave after sunrise." he told her, exasperated, "I know that you are frightened, Emilia, but the process of justice outweighs personal safety. Constable Carris needs to gather more information on this murderer before he can safely send us away."

"I refuse to be treated as a—a—_murder suspect_!" Emilia spoke the words as if they were poison on her tongue.

"No one said that we were suspects, did they Emilia? The Constable only interviewed two of the guests and neither one of them was us."

"You don't seem to understand, Rudi!" Emilia turned from the looking-glass, fire in her eyes, "I will not be cooped up in this terrible place with a _killer_!"

"I wasn't the one who wanted to go to this Christmas party." said Rudi defensively.

"Oh yes, shift the blame to me! How gentlemanly!" Emilia screeched, loudly, but not loud enough to be heard beyond their room, "Move over, I'm going to bed!"

"Happy to oblige." Rudi scooted down a bit, making room for his toad-like wife to tuck in beside him.

He fell asleep almost instantly. It was a deep sleep. A restful sleep.

If only he had known what his wife was getting up to! 

Once Emilia was certain that Rudi was soundly in slumber, she crept out of bed. It was nearly five in the morning! Far too early to be creeping about the hotel. But she had made her choice: she was leaving Mount Rancour—and Geimhaven—with or without her husband. She snuck over to her closet, and pulled on her traveling pants and vest, as well as her heavy fur-coat. She'd need to wear plenty of layers to make it through that dreadful blizzard. Hopefully there were still some trains running in the valley below.

She pulled her leather gloves onto her hands, and her knee-boots onto her feet.

Making sure that both of her suitcases were packed, Emilia stole out of the room, without once waking Rudi.

Emilia had expected it to be as easy. Her husband was a _very _heavy sleeper.

It was very hot in all her bundles, dragging the weight of her cases down the stairs behind her. Several times, she heard voices from far off. The staff, whispering in conspiratorial tones about the death of their employer.

She was nearly lost on her way to the gondola port, though she found it easily enough. The door hadn't been locked. What luck!

Emilia switched the lights on in the little room, revealing the open door looking out on the snow and the Alps. Both of the gondolas were in port. Which one to take?

More importantly: how did she get the things to work on her own. Of course, that stout man who usually operated the gondolas from the village would still be at his post! Emilia hoped so, at least.

She went over to the little radio on the side board, and spoke into it, "Hello? Hello, is the gondola-operator there?"

Gerard had nearly fallen asleep while waiting for Carris to call to return to Geimhaven. When he heard the crackling of the radio, and the voice on the other end: faint and barely discernible with the storm-induced static, he gave a start and spoke into the receiver, "Hello? Herr Constable?"

"Yes! Yes, is this the operator?" the voice didn't _sound _like Carris'. But there was too much static, and anyway, Gerard was too tired to care.

"Do you want to come down?" he asked.

"Yes, that's exactly what I want. I'll board the gondola on the left wire. Get it ready to head down."

"Of course, of course." Gerard murmured, just wanting to be over with this.

He waited some time to let the Constable settle himself in the gondola, and then pulled the lever to start the current down the wire. And then, the unpredictable occurred.

As the lever was pulled, sparks shot up, smoke and sizzling vapors fumed all around Gerard. Some kind of malfunction! Gerard had barely no time to think at all, before the uncontrollable electricity became the end of him.

Emilia was quite pleased with herself. She seemed to have fooled the operator into thinking that she was the Constable coming back from his investigation. She sat down in the gondola and closed the door behind her, tucking her bags beneath her bench. There were no lights in the gondola, so it was rather unsettling to hear to the whistling wind and see the darkness ahead of her.

Suddenly, she heard the hum of the gondola coming to life, though she also heard sizzles and snaps. Was the generator burning out?

The gondola vibrated for a moment and then started down the wire. Actually, it coasted down. Emilia screamed, having nothing to hold onto but the bench that she sat on. There must have been some kind of electrical malfunction. Good God, was this the end for her?

But no. The gondola suddenly stopped sliding, midway down the wire. Suspended in the air, halfway between the Weinbeck and Geimhaven. Miles above the deep valley, the whole vehicle blowing back and forth in the wind.

And it was dark. So pitch dark.

Little did Emilia know, that as she lay petrified in the gondola, someone stood in the port at the Weinbeck, slicing through the base of the gondola's support wires.

This _did _become apparent to her, however, as her gondola suddenly, without warning, dropped like a stone towards the ravine.

The snow-drifts blowing through the air were too thick for anyone to see the falling device. The wind was bellowing too loudly for anyone to hear Emilia's scream.

But nevertheless, the gondola carrying Emilia DeStefano crashed into the valley, silencing Emilia's whining voice once and for all.

A/N: Believe me, guys, it took me a lot of convincing to kill Emilia off. I had kind of grown attached to her and Rudi's arguments! But either way, Rich's body has been found, there's a mysterious crevice in the elevator shaft, and Will is conducting the investigation.

Update Coming Next Friday!:)


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7, Clang!

Disclaimer: The story-line and characters belong to us. The premise, as has been said, doesn't.

A/N: Happy Easter! Here we are in Chapter 7—about four months after Christmas. Well, we hope you enjoy it. I certainly enjoyed writing this one!

Minnie was woken up after only being asleep a few hours. It was a sharp tapping at the door that had alerted her.

She pulled on her dressing gown and slippers, going to answer the door.

"Yes, Constable?" she asked. Carris was indeed standing in the doorway, looking uncomfortable and rather out of place.

"Frau. Lewis, correct?" he said at last.

"Yes. What's happened?"

"Please, if you would, wake your daughter. I have to show you something that you might find—shocking."

Minnie nodded, unsure of exactly _what _this man was talking about. Whatever it was, it couldn't be a good thing.

Selia was still sound asleep, her arms wrapped around Walter, who was also quite still.

"Selia. Selia wake up." she shook her awake, gently as she could.

Selia's eyes opened slowly, still heavy from the general lack of sleep, "Good morning, Mom. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas to you to." Minnie smiled, "Put something on, dear. The Constable wants to show us something."

"What kind of something?"

"He wouldn't say."

Selia begrudgingly put on her own slippers and dressing gown, following Minnie out into the corridor, where Constable Carris was waiting.

"Please come with me." he said shortly.

They followed him over to the kitchens, and the meat freezer beyond.

"What's in here?" Selia looked apprehensive. The kitchen-staff were hanging around, preparing for breakfast.

"Prepare yourselves." he warned them, opening the freezer door.

Selia brought her hands to her mouth so as to stifle her cry. Minnie wobbled on her feet, clutching a nearby counter-top for support.

In the freezer, lay the beaten and bruised corpse of her husband.

"W-w-where?" was all Minnie could get out, "Where did you find him?"

"In the elevator shaft. He appeared to have been pushed."  
Selia's eyes widened, and Minnie was shocked to see tears welling up there. Tears for the man that she hated with all her heart, "He was killed?" she breathed.

"Yes. He was." Carris looked at the sous-chefs, who were giving off surreptitious glances at them and the corpse that lay before them, "There won't be time for breakfast, this morning. No matter what the weather is, it is imperative that you all get off of this mountain. Pack your things. Be quick."

There. That was all. No time to mourn or grieve. Minnie didn't want to grieve. She didn't want to remember Rich. But he had been killed and Selia was distraught. _She _at least merited some time to mourn her father.

But they had no time. They had to run away—to leave before they all ended up dead. For clearly this killer had no partiality. Man, woman, old, young, rich or poor. There were no preferences. The killer would love to slit the throats of every single one of them in that hotel.

"Holy smokes, Chris, look at that snow!" Kathy gasped looking through the window, "I'll bet that we'll be waiting at the train station for the rest of the weekend, at least!"

Chris stepped out of the bathroom, fully clad in a pair of jeans and a sweater, "Come on, Kathy. I'm sure the Constable wants to have a word with us before breakfast."

"Oh, certainly." Kathy suddenly remembered that she was still in her nightgown, "I'll be ready in a moment!"

She gathered a pair of mauve sweat-pants and a dark blue sweat-shirt in her arms and entered the bathroom that Chris had just left.

Chris turned at the sound of a knock on the door, "Hello?" he called.

"It's me: Lois!"

Chris opened the door and saw Lois standing in the corridor, already fully dressed, wringing her hands like mad.

"What's wrong, Lois?"

"Is Kathy alright?" her voice trembled.

"Of course. Why?"

"I was worried. The Constable found something terrible earlier!"

"What?"

Lois gulped, grasping the door-frame, "A body."

"Another corpse?" Chris suddenly felt very ill, "Who was it?"

"It was Mr. Lewis! The Constable found him in the elevator shaft. He'd been pushed!"

"I'll tell Kathy."

"Oh, this is too dreadful!" Lois fell against the dresser, "Who knows who'll be next?"

"Lois, we're leaving the hotel today. Everything will be alright. Besides, it's Christmas. We shouldn't let anything be ruined for us."

"Oh, I don't think a holiday will cheer the killer up!" Lois grumbled, though she sounded as if she really wished to believe that a holiday was the perfect remedy to a killing spree.

Chris held Lois by the shoulder and guided her out into the corridor, "You'd better pack." he said, gently as he could, "You can't afford to be in this state."

"Yes. Yes, I suppose you're right." Lois shuddered, and went off down the hall.

"Emilia?" Rudi called, "Emilia? Where the hell are you?"

She had not been in bed when he had woke—which was extraordinarily odd, as _he _was always the first up. Emilia always preferred to sleep late.

Secondly, she was not in the bathroom, and the shower looked as though it had not been used since the previous morning.

But what really concerned him was this: Emilia's bags were missing. Her suitcases were gone from the corner of the room. Her coat, gloves and boots were missing from the closet. Rudi looked out on the raging blizzard that was terrorizing the Alps.

Emilia wouldn't be fool enough to leave the Weinbeck all on her own.

Would she?

Carris had assembled the guests in the lounge. Yvette looked around nervously, first at the black pants she wore. Second, at the fire in the hearth. Third, at the ashen-faced Chris, sitting between a grim Kathy and a trembling Gloria.

Chris gestured for Yvette to come over to him. She sat next to Gloria, which she supposed was good enough, considering the circumstances.

Carris stood in the center of the roomy, surveying them like a hawk watches its prey.

"Good morning." he began, "And Merry Christmas. Now, some of you may have already heard of the—thing that I found whilst searching the hotel. Those of you who do not yet know, I will tell you: one of your fellow guests was discovered in the elevator shaft, undoubtedly pushed by the same person who did away with Igor Weiss."

Yvette chanced a glance across the room and saw that innocent young belle, crying softly into the arms of her fiance. Her mother sat beside them, looking distraught. It must have been the belle's father who had been killed.

Carris went on, "It is important that, despite the inclement weather, you all leave this hotel immediately. A killer is still at large. It is not safe at this desolate spot. Now—"

He looked about to say more, but he was cut off by a scream. An anguished, ripping scream.

Hilda stood in the gondola port, looking at the door, opened onto the mountains. One of the gondolas was missing, and the remaining one wouldn't be much use to anyone, anymore. The wires had been cut, and Hilda feared that someone had been on the missing gondola when the cords were snipped.

She had screamed of course. What else was she to do?

First Weiss' murder. Than the discovery of that other guest's corpse. Now, they were veritably stranded on Mount Rancour! This day was just getting worse and worse.

Sure enough, Constable Carris came running in shortly after her cry. When he saw the state of things, he went from firm and professional, to shaken and a tad loose in the tone.

"What's happened?" he asked.

"Someone cut the wires. One of the gondolas are missing. I think that someone was _in it _when—" she broke off.

Carris hurried over to the radio, only to find that it had been smashed.

"The whole thing's been sabotaged." he turned to Hilda, "Make sure that everyone is gathered together. Make an account of your entire staff—make certain that everyone is accounted for!" he moved around the room, hunting for what? Clues? Fingerprints? The tell-tale cigarette ash? Hilda didn't know.

What she did know, was that she had to assemble the guests and the staff.

The time for petty investigating was over. This was a case of survival.

"This is, indeed, something very serious." Carris spoke carefully, choosing his words with the utmost hesitation.

"Hello, Captain Obvious." Roger whispered into Nick's ear in the most sardonic of tones.

Nick could barely let loose with a chuckle. He had to admit it, he was scared. Dead scared.

Frances had recovered mostly, and she hadn't been at all miffed at being urgently woken up.

This wasn't good. Not at all.

Carris continued, "The gondolas leading down to village, have been disabled."

"What? Why?" Lois yelped, complete with a rushed current of whispers from the others who were present.

"It was not done with my intent." Carris pressed his lips together, "Someone else did it. To keep us here."

The whispers suddenly became fierce conversation, mingled with dry sobs and shrieks of despair.

"Now, it is highly likely that one of your number was on one of the gondolas when the device was dismantled. Is there anyone unaccounted for?" he paused, "That isn't dead, I mean."

Nick heard a voice rise from near the back of the lounge. It was the Italian aristocrat: Signor DeStefano.

"My wife, Emilia." he started, looking gray in the face, "She wasn't in my room when I woke up, this morning. Her things were gone, as well."

The silence that followed must have been terrible for Signor DeStefano. Everyone knew what must have happened to his wife. But to say it was completely unnecessary.

At last, Carris said, "It is advised—actually, it is _demanded—_that no one leaves this room. Staying together is the safest thing to be done."

"And what will you be doing?" asked Roger's sister, Joyce. She sounded hard and grating.

"I will be trying to ferret out this killer. Whether he be in this hotel; or, more specifically, in this room."

Ben Hastings laughed, cocking an eyebrow, "You mean one of _us _is the killer? I don't think anyone here has the brains!"

"It does not always take brains to be a serial killer. It does often take brawn."

Ben scowled, clenching his hands in fists. It took no genius to see how much brawn _he _possessed.

"No possibility must be overlooked." Carris sighed, "Now, I will resume my interrogations." he scanned them all, "You." he pointed at Gloria, "Please follow me."

Gloria stood shakily and followed Carris out of the room, looking scared out of her mind.

Carris couldn't honestly believe that _Gloria _was the killer? If he did, than he must not know her very well.

Gloria followed Carris into the office where he had held his two previous interviews.

"Your name?" he asked, sitting himself down at the desk.

"Gloria Miller."

"Residence?"

"Boston. Massachusetts."

"You've lived their how long?"

"All my life."

"Very well." his eyes snapped up to stare at her, and Gloria instantly felt even more uncomfortable, "What were your movements over the past night?"

"After we were dismissed, I went to bed."

"You went directly to sleep?"

"No—no, I had trouble. I couldn't get that image out of my head." Gloria shuddered, forcibly reminded of Weiss' death.

"You've lived a quiet life?"

What kind of question was that? Gloria replied, flustered, "I don't see what that has to do with anything—"

Carris overlapped her, "It was just a thought. You slept the rest of the night?"

"Yes."

"Hm." Carris traced light circles on the desk with his pen, "Were you at all acquainted with Richard Lewis?"

"No. No, I never spoke with him in my life." Gloria didn't have to lie. She hadn't spoke to a single member of the Lewis clan until Mrs. Lewis on Wednesday morning.

"You may go. Please send—" he ran his eyes over the guest list, "Kathy Smith."

"Yes. Was I of any help?" she doubted that she had been.

"We shall see. You may go."

Gloria blinked a few times, before turning on her heel and leaving the office.

"You wanted to see me, Constable?" Kathy asked, wearing a small smile on her face. She had to try and stay cheerful, even in these trying circumstances. Otherwise, she was sure Lois—who was by now quite a good friend—would break down completely, and Chris, who was trying so hard to compose himself, would be without someone to turn to.

Unless one counted nice, young Gloria. Such a sweet girl, really. Miss Schneider was rather agreeable, herself. Though she seemed to favor Chris quite a lot.

Constable Carris nodded to her, his face bleak and expressionless, as Kathy had always observed it, "Fraulein Smith. Please sit down."

"Thank you." she settled herself into a chair, "Merry Christmas, though the state of things isn't quite merry."

Carris didn't smile; Kathy remained cordial.

"Would you please be so kind, Fraulein, to recount to me what happened last night. In your eyes. From your point of view."

"Well, I was sitting in back. With Lois Burkley and Gloria Miller, whom you spoke to earlier."

Carris grunted to show that he was listening.

She went on: "My charge, Chris Lewin—well, you can kinda call him my charge, though he's more of a student and friend—he was on the stage with Miss Schneider, when the star fell. I was so shaken, seeing him all over blood like that. Thank heaven it didn't strike him. Though it _is _very unfortunate for poor Mr. Weiss to have died, though. No one should have to be a victim of murder."

Carris raised his eyebrows, impressed at her rant, Kathy imagined, "I suppose then, from your vantage point, you could not see much?"

"No. And what could there be to see?" Kathy was suddenly struck with an idea and leaned forward in her seat, "Did you check the scene for fingerprints?"

"No. I have not the proper equipment. And I doubt that, in the case of a rigged trap, there would be any incriminating prints at the scene."

"Oh." Kathy leaned back, "A pity." she liked this idea of asking the authority figure questions. She figured that, as a subject in the investigation, she ought to extract some information from the detective in charge, "Did you find anything of interest when you searched the place? Besides poor Mr. Lewis, I mean."

"That information will have to be kept confidential to myself and Frau. Vishtko for the time being."

Kathy pouted, "Are there any more questions that you would like to ask me?"

Carris thought for a moment, "No. Thank you, Frau. Smith, for your help. Please send in this student of yours—Herr Lewin."

"Of course, Constable Carris." Kathy smiled again and went off toward the lounge.

This was indeed a rather interesting business—it was the deaths that made the whole situation terrible.

Joyce leaned against the wall. Sitting down only made her more restless.

Walter was still in a huddle with Selia and Minnie. Roger in another corner with Frances and Nick.

No one thought it would be a good idea to keep her company. Not even Walter. She was the Adams sister. The eldest. The one who had no time for a romantic relationship.

Not that that made her unhappy. The simple fact that she was _ignored _made her unhappy. There were times when her brothers distanced themselves from her. Walter would go into the city to spend his day on Wall Street. In the evenings he'd spend hours with Selia.

Roger had always taken Joyce for granted. He had loved Selia first, though he probably didn't even want to think about it now that he had Frances for company.

And there was Joyce. Leaning against the wall, legs overlapping each other. Arms crossed, trying to look indifferent, but failing.

A wisp of hair fell out of her bun, falling over her eyes. A strand of brown, blurred by close proximate to her face. She tucked it back into its place, closing her eyes.

While her eyes were shut tight, she heard a faint buzzing noise, and the rosy light that shone through her closed lids diminished, leaving consuming darkness.

Joyce heard screams and shouts of surprise. She opened her eyes, and saw that the only light in the room was the white of the snow outside the windows, and the weak fire in the hearth.

The power had gone out.

"Oh my God!" Lois screamed the loudest, "Oh, dear God!" she continued her hysterical, incoherent babbling until Nick rose from his seat, crossed to her and struck her across the face, "Shut up." he told her, quite firmly.

Lois gasped, half in shock and half in pain. Her hand went up to the place on her cheek, bright red, where Nick's hand had met her. She nodded and was silent, only a whimper escaped her lips.

Minnie tried the light-switch, "The power's dead."

Kathy entered the room, "Good golly, almighty." she began—Joyce couldn't believe that Roger had the gall to snicker in this situation, "All the lights have gone out. In the lobby. The hallway. Everywhere." she looked towards Chris, "Constable Carris asked to speak with you dear, but he may have changed his mind now."

"I vote we all stay in here." Ben stepped out of the shadowy corner where he had been sitting, "The cop was right. We're safe as long as we're together."

"But there's still all the members of the staff!" Yvette said wildly, "_They're _all out there!" she gestured to the doors, "Any one of them can come charging in here right now, and hack us to pieces!"

Chris went over to her and pressed her hand, "It'll be fine, Yvette. We've all got to stick together. Constable Carris will make sure everyone else is safe."

Roger laughed. Joyce felt about ready to hit him, he was being so impudent, "That's one man," he said, "against a few dozen others."

Joyce hated herself for thinking this, but part of her actually agreed with him.

Carris gave a start as the lights went out. Weiss' office had no windows, making it even more difficult to see anything.

He groped his way out into the corridor and crashed headlong into Frau. Vishtko.

"Fraulein, what's happened?" he asked sharply.

She replied, "The fuse-box is perfect. I don't understand—"

"It's the killer's doing, then." Carris said it so simply that it could not be refuted.

"As for the hotel phones: They're all down. Because of the storm, I think."

"Then we are completely cut off."

"What are we to do?"

Carris paused, in thought, "We are to stay together."

"That hasn't exactly proved helpful so far!" Frau. Vishtko snapped, "I suggest you come up with a more creative plan, and do it fast!"

Carris resisted the urge to lash out on her. She was being far too unrealistic!

"We will solve this, I tell you!" he snapped, "It will take some time, but no one else has been killed yet, correct?"

"No. Unless you count the poor woman who's likely enough buried under all the snow by now?" Vishtko crossed her arms, pursing her lips together.

Carris had to think for a while to remember whom she was referring to. The aristocrat's wife, yes. She had left the hotel and had died because of it.

"No one else will die so long as everyone does as I say!" he said finally, pushing past Frau. Vishtko as he moved down the corridor.

He felt her gaze on the back of his neck as he walked away.

It was accusatory. Blaming him.

"Screw the cop." Ben stood before the others in the lounge, "We're getting out of here. Now."

He was confident of it. There was no way in hell that he was going to sit around while that idiot Constable tried to investigate.

"And how do you propose we do that?" asked Frances skeptically.

"We hike."

"Hike?" Selia shot out of her seat like a bullet from a gun, "You've _got _to be joking. It's eleven in the morning, and it's already dark outside!" she pointed to the windows, where the snow was banked halfway up, "The snow must be up to the waist right now, so that isn't helping anything. Not to mention: _It's minus ten degrees out there_!"

"It's probably colder." Kathy put in.

Selia let out a high, cold laugh. She was shaking, now. Trembling like a leaf, "You want to walk down the mountain! You know what's at the bottom of this mountain? About two-hundred miles of barren wasteland!"

Walter took her arm and motioned for her to sit. There were hot tears streaking down her face, "It's hopeless." she sobbed, her voice breaking, "We're all going to die in this goddamned hotel!"

Ben looked past her, having remained perfectly still throughout her explosion, "We'll pack up supplies. We'll are wear layers. Pack some food from the kitchen. I say it's better to have a fighting chance out in the snow, than to sit around here, waiting to die."

"You're charming." Rudi drawled, "A real strategist."

Ben shrugged, "You're loss. I guess I'm heading out on my own."

And with that, he stormed out.

"That man's mentally unbalanced." said Lois, "No sense of reason, whatsoever."

"I agree." Kathy shook her head, "He'll be skinned alive."

Gloria retched audibly.

"Sorry, dear." Kathy sighed.

Ben made his way through the halls. He'd stop at his room, first. He'd need to put on more clothes: two set of sweats, a sweater over a sweat-shirt, multiple pairs of socks. Maybe even a pair of water-tight boots over his normal sneakers.

As Ben turned the corner towards the stairwell, he spotted the Constable. Before Ben could even attempt to hide, Carris spotted him.

"You there! What are you doing out of the lounge?"

"Leave me alone, chief." Ben wasn't afraid of this spindly little idiot. He was a good head taller than Carris, and much more sturdy.

He shoved Carris aside and made his way further along.

"You are halting my investigation!" Carris stepped before Ben once more, "It is crucial that all of the guests remain in the lounge!"

"Well, I won't be around for your little detective game, much longer. I'm hopping it."

"You can't leave!"

"Why not?"

"First of all: it is naturally impossible to go more than half a mile in this weather. Second: leaving only makes you more suspicious."

"I didn't kill anybody." Ben said, with conviction.

"That remains to be seen." Carris seized Ben's arm, "Shall I detain you in a place that you _can't _escape from of your own will?"

"I'd like to see you try." Ben attempted to shove Carris off, though Carris cried out.

Ben stared for a moment. What the hell was this? A 1940's thriller flick?

In a few moments, a few porters had come running down, and held Ben firmly.

This was effing ridiculous.

Hilda pawed the ground nervously. They had dragged the the muscular man into the storage cellar and had locked him there.

Carris seemed to be wholly convinced that they had caught the perpetrator of all the murders that had occurred—including the ones that had happened in the village.

He was clearly trying to prove something. But to whom? Who in the world would waste time on proving themselves in the midst of a situation that threatened others? More importantly: These others were put in his care. The guests, the staff, and even Hilda herself were all under the Constable's protection.

Then why, in the name of heaven and Earth, did Carris bumble about, acting cool and professional, when all he had done so far was find a second body in the hotel and lock up someone with absolutely _no _motive whatsoever?

"Good Lord, I'm thinking too much." panted Hilda sitting herself down.

This ordeal was really taking a toll on her blood pressure.

Erzebeth locked the door of her house behind her. She was going to Maria's apartment, so as to keep her company on Christmas Day. The snow by now was blowing by in such great drifts that Erzebeth could make out only the vague forms of the houses up and down the Geimhaven streets.

Which way was it to that little apartment building? Erzebeth couldn't remember as she fought against the winds, her black traveling cloak billowing out around her.

This was the ugliest Christmas weather Geimhaven had seen in years. Ugly. Ugly, just like the current situation. Was the murderer still at large in the village? And where was Constable Carris? He hadn't been at his office in the morning—where in the blazes could he have been off to without informing the locals?

All in all, it was very inconsiderate of him.

Erzebeth was just thinking about how the old Constable: Beauregard. _He _wouldn't have abandoned his charges in a storm—and never, _never _when a killer was at large!

Erzebeth kept her way along, barely seeing anything all around her. And then she fell. There must have been a bit of debris, or a chunk of solid snow lying in the high street, for Erzebeth stumbled, falling face first into the snow.

The white powdery covering _did cushion_ Erzebeth's fall, though she couldn't get up.

_Dammit._ Erzebeth thought to herself. _Damn you, Erzebeth and your old bones! It won't be a murderer that gets you—oh no! You'll be done in by frostbite while everyone else sits by their fires, eating Christmas dinner!_

Indeed, Erzebeth didn't know what to do, as the snow began to pile up on her, her cloak spread around her, like a burial shroud.

_Just my luck. I really am too much of an old bat to be allowed to live._

She hadn't accomplished anything. Her days of glory as the village matriarch had long been past. Her investigation into the death of Ernst Reynald had been useless. Geraldine was in jail right now, awaiting trial. Maria was stranded over Christmas. And Rachel still waited with bated breath to discover what had happened to her Zach.

Erzebeth was useless. Perhaps it was better for her to die.

Rachel made a last inspection of the shed in back of her shop. She had decided against staying at home during the storm. It was safer in her place of work, where there were stocks of food and other useful supplies.

Dear God, that snow was making such a noise! It was getting dark early, as well.

Rachel adjusted herself, looking around her at the shelves lining the walls. Shelves stocked with cans of soup, tools for carpentry, rolls of fabric for clothing, among other things.

Long shadows were cast about the shop. Unnerving, yes, very much so.

What was that? A new sound had mingled with the roar of the snow-drifts. A great thumping sound, followed by a crunch. Someone had fallen in the snow.

Rachel's sense of kindness broke through her evident fear of the storm, and she drew her coat and muffler from the rack and bundled up.

She opened the door and was nearly pushed to the floor by the great winds. Nevertheless, Rachel moved out into the high street. There _was _someone there! A person, clad in a black traveling cloak, was lying face-down in the street, half-buried by the snow.

Rachel moved as quickly as the wind would allow her, bending over the form, which she turned onto its back.

It was Frau. Flaton.

Suddenly filled with a great fear for the town-matron's safety, Rachel hoisted Erzebeth onto her shoulder. She seemed to have passed out, and her face was turning blue at a rapid speed. It was difficult getting Erzebeth back into the shop, but Rachel prevailed, locking the door securely behind her.

"Frau. Flaton!" she began, setting her patient down on the bare window-bench, "Frau. Flaton!"

Receiving no answer, Rachel hastened to the back room and drew some hot—rather, lukewarm—water from the rusty old tap and soaked a washcloth in the clammy water. At least the pipes hadn't frozen yet, though their bounty was less than favorable.

She set to dabbing at Erzebeth's limbs with the cloth, hoping to revive the old woman.

Quite a Christmas this was, indeed.

Ben sat, bored. The idiots had locked him up!

The basement stank of mildew, and was chilly, too. That cop had trampled Ben's plans a mere ten minutes after he had made them up!

Ben rubbed his arms. He felt heavy, drained. Clearly the conditions in this place were gumming up his joints.

Ben had to fight off the ever growing urge to fall asleep—the cold was responsible for that too, assuredly.

What was that sounds on the stairs? Someone was heading down? The steps were light and hesitant. Definitely not the Constable.

The steps drew closer and closer. What if it was that killer? That would be something else! They all suspected him and they'd find him dead. Not very good news for him, though.

"Hello."

Ben opened his eyes with difficulty. It was Yvonne—no, Yvette.

"Did the cop send you?" he asked, surprised to find that even his tongue was becoming difficult to move.

"Yes." she spoke well enough, though she seemed nervous. Were they all being corrupted?

"I'm to tell you that you can expect to spend the night here."

"You're not scared?" Ben flashed a mischievous grin, "You don't think I'm gonna kill you?"

She smirked, crossing her arms.

"No answer?" Ben asked.

But she had already gone.

Frances drummed her fingers against the arm of the sofa. Nick was talking to Roger and Walter, in hushed tones. What were they up to? Conspiring against the killer no doubt. Killer—funny. Frances never believed that she would have spent time thinking about outsmarting a serial killer. Such things never happened to common people.

She looked over to Signor DeStefano. He was pale, staring at his lap. Kathy had brought him a coffee, for of course they all felt sorry for him. His beloved wife—frankly, Frances had never thought of Signora DeStefano as likable, but it wasn't her's to say—had met with a terrible end. Plummeting through the night. Through the darkness.

Frances went over to him, "Signor DeStefano, I'm Frances Antoni."

The poor man looked up at her and Frances saw that his eyes were bloodshot. He had been crying, then, "Good afternoon."

Frances didn't know that to say to this. 'I'm sorry for your loss' was terribly unrealistic, and 'You must be feeling terrible' served only to upset him ever further.

So Frances settled for, "It's terrible isn't it? I mean—you wouldn't have believed anything like this could happen to ordinary people." Internally, Frances cursed herself. Had she no tact?

But Signor DeStefano began to speak. The words came out slowly, but willingly, as if they had been waiting all day to be spoken. Which may have actually been the case, "Ordinary people. Emilia wasn't an ordinary woman, goodness no! She was a wild cat draped in silks and rogue. But that didn't stop her from being likable. I wonder, though, what stupidity possessed her to take up her things and leave in the dead of night." he shook his head, but no further tears appeared in his eyes.

"She must have been frightened." Frances spoke as softly as she could, "I daresay we all are."

Signor DeStefano shook his head, "No. No. Emilia was just being stupid. I'm not afraid to say it. She did have fits of idiocy at times, especially when she was afraid."

Frances paused a moment to think, "I'm sure you miss her very much."

"It's hard to say that. It's been about six hours. I'm used to her being distanced from me for two days, at most. We didn't spend much time together."

Frances bit her lip. She didn't know what to say to that.

Minnie patted Selia's shoulder. The poor thing still hadn't quite recovered from the initial shock of seeing her father smashed and battered, lying in the kitchen freezer.

"Honey," she began; she had to talk to Selia at some point, "honey, are you okay?"

Selia went on running her fingers through Eddy's fur. She had brought the dog down from the room, for fear that he'd come to harm on his own with a killer in the hotel.

"I'm fine, Mom. Don't worry."

"Selia, if you want to talk about your father, by all means, please do." Minnie implored her daughter. She wasn't about to watch her only remaining family member break into pieces.

"I'm scared, Mom." Selia said at last, "This son of a bitch killed Dad days ago. He's been waiting around in the shadows for us—Mom, I can't lose anyone else! I love you, Mom. And Walter—Joyce, Roger; I can't lose any of you! Dad, that poor man's wife." she looked at Signor DeStefano, who was in the corner talking with Frances, "Who knows who else? Oh, my God—Dad!" she raised her voice a little, but not enough to be heard over the chatter of the three men at the loveseat, "It's so freaking ironic! He wanted out of our lives, and he ends up walking into an elevator shaft! Talk about out of our lives!" she gave a bitter laugh, half sardonic and half nervous.

Minnie wrapped her arms around Selia, "Selia. You are my daughter. We will get through this. You and I and everyone else in this hotel." she blinked a few times, surprised to find that there were actually tears welling up. She smiled, "It'll be okay, Selia. You wait and see."

"We ought to talk to the Constable and have him lead us down the mountain." Walter suggested, "There's strength in numbers."

Roger laughed, "Yeah, real smart, bro. You'd have thought that a guy who plays with stocks would know how to escape a murderer. Besides, you saw what happened to Ben. They locked him in the basement. They've got the worst cop on the planet working this case."

Nick Antoni, who had been allowed to join the discussion only because he was Roger's girlfriend's brother, spoke up, "We _should _talk to the cop. But not for a guide. We should ask to be involved in this whole thing. If we all help investigate, we could find more clues."

"Or we could cover up the evidence." Roger smiled.

"What?"

"You heard the Constable last night, he suspects one of us. Look at Ben, for proof. The man's paranoid!"

"And you agree with him?" Walter couldn't believe this.

"You never know." was all he said, "It might even be someone on the staff. After all, someone _did _kill the manager."

"They also killed two guests." Nick pointed out.

"You never know! That's all I'm saying."

"Do we at least agree on going to the Constable?" Walter said, exasperated.

"Sure, whatever." Nick relented.

They both looked at Roger, who sighed, "Alright. But it won't come to anything."

Will had made up his mind. He was going to explore that crevice. That little space he had found in the elevator shaft.

Perhaps—and Will didn't deny that it might be—the killer was an outsider. A third party not amongst those in the hotel. If so, it might have been easier to cut the power. Yes, yes, it might work out. Even better, the crevice might reveal a whole collection of clues—maybe even the killer's hideout.

He climbed back onto the top of the elevator, standing in the drafty, damp chute. There was the crevice; that little opening. Lord knows what was waiting for him in there. He reached for the flashlight at his belt and switched it on.

"Here we go." he muttered to himself, barely even sure whether or not he was trying to be reassuring.

He grabbed onto the opening of the space and crawled in. Once he was inside the narrow tunnel, Will found that there was ample space in which he could move around. The space widened out, Will also found out, as he moved through.

The floor beneath him sloped—the tunnel was carved to move beyond the Weinbeck. Deeper into Mount Rancour.

In his mind, Will thought over what could possibly have been the reason for these passages. Could they have been built for hotel maintenance? No. If that was so than Frau. Vishtko would have known about them.

Igor Weiss had overseen the making of the hotel. Surely, _he _would have known? But Will couldn't very well ask him now.

The tunnels grew even wider, and eventually, Will found that he was at a place where the passage diverged into three separate corridors.

Which way? There didn't seem to be any sign of habitation along this track. Not even rats and roaches seemed to want to live in this unstable old spot.

Carris decided to take the middle path. What had he to lose? Everything , of course. But there was also much to be gained if he caught the killer.

He held his flashlight out in front of him as he moved down the passage. The beam shown onto the walls of old brick, covered by crumbling plaster. These tunnels must have been far older than the Weinbeck. Much, much older.

But, if that was so, why was there such an obvious entrance to this labyrinth in the hotel itself?

Perhaps the full story of these tunnels would never be known. But the story of the killer would be. Will was sure of it.

What was that? A series of distance _clanging_ sounds, drawing ever nearer. Will moved further into the tunnel, "Hello?" he called. Part of him realized, of course, that calling out would simply alert the killer to his presence, but he had to be sure of _something_.

Eventually, the source of the sounds became apparent to Will. A series of grates, rusty and clearly out of use, were falling from in front and behind him, striking the cold ground with terrible, ear-piercing noise.

Will didn't know where to turn, as more and more grates came down closer and closer to him on both sides.

Will turned to his front and his back. It was hopeless; his time had come. They had all been right: Frau. Flaton, Maria Bernadine, even Frau. Vishtko. He was useless as a law official—he was indeed more suited to being a politician.

Not knowing what to do, Will stumbled over his own feet and fell on his face, just as one of the grates fell directly over him.

Will knew only one second of searing pain as the sharpened points of the grate sunk into his back, running through his organs, boring holes into his lungs—his heart.

And Will knew no more.

A/N: And we've lost the cop! I didn't much like Carris' character, and he basically only exited so I could have a guy to hold the primary investigation. Now, the guests are on their own, stranded on Mount Rancour.

Remember, there are _Mount Rancour _related activities on our profile! Have a happy Easter, to all those who observe it.

Update Coming Next Friday!:)


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8, Slit!

Disclaimer: All characters and setting belong to us. The premise, though, is based off _Harper's Island._

A/N: Royal wedding, today! I can't wait to catch it. Well—let's get started with this rather lengthy chapter!

Maria pulled her Christmas dinner off of the rusty old stove: it was some old pasta. She had tried to call her parents in Milan, but all phone reception was down.

Damn this weather! Damn this village! Damn that terrible Constable Carris!

It was all on his account that she was here. Him and whichever sick bastard killed Ernst Reynald. Poor Geraldine, sitting in a jail cell in Vienna. How unfair.

Maria turned the dial on the stove, switching off the gas. What could she have expected? A great roar rose from the stove, and the whole thing burst into flames.

Maria fell back against the wall, as the crackling flames spread across her little kitchen, consuming the cupboards and charring the counters.

What had happened? Had the blasted old thing finally given way?

Maria had to alert the people in the other apartments—this fire had already taken up half of the room.

Maria dashed to her closet, grabbed her coat, hat and purse, and fled into the corridor. Why wasn't the smoke detector going off? Likely, it hadn't been used in so long, that it had long ago fallen into disrepair.

She cried out, cried that there was a fire, though the fact already seemed to be apparent. Black smoke was funneling from beneath her door, and there were hints of flame creaking through.

There was more noise. Creaks of weakening foundations, screams of the other patrons of the building.

The stairwell was full to bursting with the fleeing apartment-dwellers, Maria choked in the midst of them.

They had to get out at once, for the fire had by now engulfed the majority of the upper floors. The smoke, thick as ink-soup and black as the darkest night, flooded the stairwell, so that it was almost tangible.

People—especially the elders—found themselves choking, gasping and retching as they tumbled down the stairs.

They had to leave, before it was too late. But, alas, it already was! The walls shook, sending chalky white dust down on them all. The building was collapsing.

The sound of the floors above breaking down took on a new meaning, as the flights of stairs behind Maria were buried in collapsing rubble, crushing a good deal of people with it.

How could this all have been caused by one thing? Just a little stove malfunction! Maria hated to think of such a thing, but the explosion must have been rigged. Someone had tampered with her stove. But when? It had been fine when Maria had prepared dinner last night, and again at lunchtime today!

And either way, who would have wanted to rig her kitchen appliances to explode?

But Maria couldn't waste time pondering these matters! She had to evade the flames, the smoke, the crumbling walls.

Evening had fallen at last, and it was darker than ever. The blizzard was still blowing, but not quite as fierce as it had been in the afternoon.

Erzebeth had, at long last, started to stir.

"What's this?" were the first words out of her mouth, "What's happened?" she sounded snappy, and cross.

"You fell, Frau. Flaton. Fell in the snow." Rachel slipped Erzebeth a cup of cold tea, "I'd make it warmer, but the pipes are all frozen."

"What a dear you are, Rachel." Erzebeth smiled, "You didn't have to pull me out of the snow. Has Christmas been spent, already?"

"It's seven in the evening."

"Ah." Erzebeth stood, wobbling on her feet. Rachel reached out to steady her, "Careful, Frau Flaton You shouldn't be exerting yourself. Spend the night here, by all means."

"Oh, thank you, dear." Erzebeth settled down again, "I'll be fine bedding down on this." she patted the window bench on which she was sitting.

"You'll need a quilt, at least." Rachel crossed her arms, "I'll fetch you one."

She went over to the front of the shop, where there were blankets and linens for sale. Rachel selected a green and white affair, very thick. It was one of the quilts that she had knit herself, in hopes of being able to raise the price on it.

"Here you go, Fraulein." she said, laying the quilt in Erzebeth's lap

"Please, Rachel, call me Erzebeth. You've done enough for me that we can be informal."

"Alright, Erzebeth." Rachel went over to the window, looking at the snow, "Oh!"

"What is it?" Erzebeth craned her neck.

"There's something black mixed with the snow." Rachel breathed, "I think it's smoke!"

"Smoke? You mean, like a fire?"

"I'm not sure. Should we call for help!"

"Can't. The Constable isn't in his office." Erzebeth lowered her head, "At least, he wasn't there this morning. Doesn't seem to be in his house, either. And Deputy Gobler's still away from town."

"Then I must go by myself."

"What are you saying, Rachel?" Erzebeth was aghast, "Dear child, of course I am coming too!"

"Erzebeth, you've already had one accident." Rachel asserted, "And you are in no fit state to be going out there, anyway."

"Rachel, I have held charge in this village for over fifty years. I am not about to abandon the people who I've looked after to a fire on Christmas Day!" she paused, as if wondering whether to speak further.

"Yes, Erzebeth? What's wrong?"

"Rachel, do you remember Maria Bernadine? I introduced you two a few days ago."

"Yes, I remember her. What is it?"

"Well—come to think of it, I'll tell you later."

"But I don't understand—"

"It's nothing, is all. Maria and I just stumbled upon a little something. It may involve this. Either way, I'm coming with you."

Rachel sighed. It was clear that Erzebeth wouldn't let her say anything different, "Very well, Erzebeth. But bundle up. Take some coats from my store room. Some scarfs too-and some galoshes."

They were heading out.

"Where is he?" Joyce wondered, "It's been an hour!"

"You don't suppose he's dead, do you?" Lois ran her fingers along her lap.

"Walter's gone to look for him." Selia added, "He'll find him, I'm sure."

Joyce pursed her lips in concentration. It was true that Walter, Roger and Nick had set out to find Constable Carris. The fact that they hadn't yet returned made them even more worried.

"We ought to go out together and look for them. All of them." Chris got to his feet almost at once.

"Yeah." Gloria nodded, "There's strength in numbers—right?" the poor thing was obviously scared to death at even the mere thought of leaving the lounge, but she seemed willing enough.

"I disagree." Yvette moved her wide eyes across all of them, "We'll summon one of the staff members and ask them. It's no use the rest of us being killed."

Joyce approved of this course of action, "Ill go and find the chief of staff. Miss Vishtko.""

"You sure, Joyce?" Minnie creased her brow, concerned, "I could go with you."

"No." Joyce wouldn't hear of it, "I'm going myself. The rest of you stay where you are."

Just like that, she had left the lounge. Now, away from the rosy blaze in the fireplace, Joyce found out how truly dark the Weinbeck was by night—without any power. The snow banked against the windows left odd shadows on the walls and floor. The howling of the wind sounded like a pack of forlorn ladies singing a song, the saddest of songs.

Twice, Joyce thought she heard someone moving about nearby, but she could never be quiet sure. She wondered to herself how the staff must have felt about this. There assuredly were plenty of them. Heavens knows how many of them had already been picked off in this darkness.

At last, Joyce stumbled into the dining room, where she found a large group of hotel employees, who stared at her suspiciously. Amongst them, blending in with the shadows in her black uniform, was Hildregarde Vishtko.

"What are you doing here, Miss?" Vishtko asked, her dark eyes widening, "Constable Carris instructed all the guests to remain in the lounge."

"That's just the thing, Frau. Vishtko." Joyce gathered up all the mettle she possessed and said, "Constable Carris hasn't returned to us. He's been missing for a while; have you seen him, by any chance?"

Vishtko didn't pause at all before saying, "No. He wanted to resume his search of the hotel."

"Where was he searching?" Joyce didn't think that this was her position to ask such a question, but she needed to know.

"He—well, he told me to tell no one, but if he is missing it is our priority to find him."

"Yes?" Joyce couldn't help leaning forward a bit.

"The Constable found a series of passages in the elevator shaft." Vishtko said at last, "Last I saw him, he was off to explore them."

Joyce's head reeled. Tunnels? That blundering idiot had abandoned them all with a killer so he could go spelunking?

"We have to find him!" she spoke defiantly, sick and tired of sitting around and doing nothing while the situation grew worse and worse.

"Yes. Yes, we must, of course." Vishtko didn't sound particularly pleased about this turn of events, "I shall assemble some porters and have them lead a search party." she turned, as if to go, but Joyce stopped with her a firm, "No."

"What?" Vishtko turned around, stunned, "But—"

"I want to go look for him. Me and some of the other guests. Some of the staff can come to, and even you, if you want to, but I want to go." Joyce found it odd, that she was the one now delivering the commands to the person in charge. But it had to be done.

Vishtko sighed, "Of course, Miss. Please go to the lounge and tell whomever you wish about your plans. You will need fit, young people, I suppose."

Joyce nodded, "Of course. But if some of the older ones want to come, I won't stop them. It's our right, anyway."

"Right to what?" Vishtko looked puzzled.

"Our right to life." Joyce said it simply enough as she headed out of the dining room, taking pains to avoid looking at the stage.

Gloria thought it very nice of Chris that he stayed close to her this whole time. He knew how easily she got nervous, especially at the current moment. There were times when he would reach out his hand and pat her arm reassuringly, or chat to her about his life away from Mount Rancour. His quiet country life in Virginia—her own quiet life in Boston.

Yvette sat on Chris' other side. They talked to each other politely, reserved. Kathy and Lois were sitting opposite the three of them, talking to each other in their own, hushed whispers.

"You okay?" Chris must have noticed her far-off expression.

"Yeah." Gloria suddenly remembered where she was, brushing a few wisps of hair away from her eyes, "I was just thinking."

"Oh." Chris smiled at her, before returning to his conversation with Yvette.

When Joyce strode in, Gloria was quite surprised to find that she had a look of fierce determination across her face.

"What is it?" Selia asked her, "Have you found Walter?"

"Or at least the Constable?" Yvette turned from Chris.

"No. But I know where the Constable _is_, at least." Joyce continued, "In some tunnels that he found in the elevator shaft."

"He _left_?" Lois nearly exploded, "_He left?_"

"Yeah. I talked with the chief of staff; she agrees that some of us should go into those tunnels to look for him. God knows, we might even find a way down from this mountain."

"We have to find the guys, first, don't we?" Frances interjected, sounding a little shrill, "I mean, we can't just go waltzing around in the crypt-keeper's lair without the others!"

"She's right." Kathy nodded sagely, "We should leave no one behind. There's a killer on the loose, and who knows what he might have done already, what with our backs being turned all this time."

"Don't talk like that!" Selia snapped, before quieting down with a whimper, "Please."

Kathy seemed to remember that Selia's fiance was one of the men missing. She bit her lip and bowed her head, silent for once.

Joyce ran her fingers through her hair, "Of course we're going to find the guys! Not all together, though; one group of about four or five people."

"I'm going." Selia stood up at once.

"Selia—" Minerva began, before stopping herself short, "Be careful, dear."

"You can count me in." Chris sprang into action, "What about you, Yvette?" he looked at the singer.

"No, thank you" Yvette shook her head, "I'd rather stay at the moment."

"Gloria?"

"Sure." Gloria couldn't believe she was replying in the affirmative at what was basically a suicide-mission, "Sure, I'll go with you guys."

"Great!" Chris smiled, hesitant as always.

"My brother's out there." Frances walked over to them, "And Roger. I'll go with you."

"Then we have five." Joyce looked at her four companions, "Come on, let's go."

She strode out of the lounge like a power-walker, seeming sure of her step.

"On we go." Chris nodded to Gloria and the others. To the rest who were waiting he said, "Take care of yourselves, now." he looked at Kathy, "Especially you, Kathy. I wouldn't want to have to tell your sister any bad news when I head home."

Kathy smirked, "Touche, honey."

They left.

"What room is this?" Nick asked, sounding tiresome.

"I think we're in the basement." Roger informed him as they pressed their way along a narrow corridor.

"Stay close, Roger. " Walter told him, shining around the little flashlight that he had 'borrowed' from the store-room upstairs.

"Why in hell would the Constable have come down here?" Nick mused, "Maybe he's dancing around on the top floor while we get lost in cellar."

"You've got a point there." Roger sighed, "This is a freaking maze! We'll never get back to the stairs."

"Shut up, Roger." said Walter.

In reply, Roger cried out, "My God! Did you hear that?"

"What?" Nick looked around frantically, "What is it?"

"Hush!" Walter lifted a finger into the air, "Watch out, you two. Be as quiet as possible."

They progressed down the corridor in this way, until another sound alerted them all to someone else's presence.

"Hello?" Walter called, brandishing his flashlight like a bat—"As if that would be of any use."Roger couldn't help snickering to himself—, "Who's there?"

"Hey!" Could you asses let me out of here?"

"It's Ben." Roger smiled, "Just Ben."

"Roger? Roger,get me the hell out of here! It's freaking freezing!"

"You trust him?" Nick turned to Roger, "You're his friend, right?"

"Something like that. Where are you, Ben?"

"In a closet, or something—there should be a door on your right!"

Roger looked around to see a heavy-looking steel door, "Be right there." Roger crossed to the door, finding that it could be opened by moving a clutch aside, as though it were a cupboard door.

The three found themselves in a little store-room, piled high with crates and barrels, full of plywood, tacks, and other tools. Ben was lying on a work-bench, looking pale and drained.

"Ben!" Roger looked his friend up and down, "You alright, man?"

"I'm gonna catch pneumonia in a couple of seconds! Do you know how damn cold this freaking cell is?"

"Well, it's no sauna." Walter shivered, his breath becoming tangible in the air.

"We're looking for Constable Carris." Nick stared Ben straight in the face, "You seen him around?"

"Nope. I haven't gotten a visitor since Yvette a little bit of a while ago. Carris sent her."

Roger reached his hand out to Ben, helping him to his feet, "Come on, man. We're getting you out of here."

"What?" Walter was stunned, "We can't just let him out! Carris will be all over _us _next!"

"Right now, we've got to _find _Carris." Roger pointed out, "I'm sure Ben wouldn't mind helping us"

"Sure, whatever. As long as I get out of this hellhole." Ben surveyed his three rescuers, skeptical, "Where have you guys looked already?"

"Just this basement." Nick leaned against the wall, "We got lost."

"Sounds like you're doing wonderfully." Ben was sardonic as ever, "Hurry up, let's find those stairs."

"Shouldn't we search the rest of the basement first?" Walter asked as they headed down the passage.

"There's no one down here but us chickens, Walt." Ben assured him.

"'Walt'?" Walter grimaced, not liking his new nickname.

"Live with it." Ben said, off-hand as they approached the stair-way at last.

Chris had never before been in such a situation as this. The darkness of the hotel, the noise of the blizzard, the complete _emptiness _of every corridor, every unused bedroom.

He could see that Gloria wasn't feeling any better, though she kept a stiff-upper lip. She was a plucky girl, and Chris couldn't shake the feeling that he liked her. There was something about her innocence, the constant fear in which she lived, that made her completely endearing to him.

Joyce led their party, and Chris was impressed at how business-like she was being with this whole thing. She walked powerfully, with confidence that she was going to achieve her means. Frances, too, had a determined tread, though she seemed less sure of herself than Joyce. They were both worried for their brothers, Chris knew. Selia was worried about her fiance, whom she must have loved more than anyone else living or dead.

"Wait!" Frances' sharp tone brought Chris out of his reverie, "Don't move."

They all fell back into a staff-bathroom. There were footsteps coming their way. Quickly, determined, there seemed to be more than one person.

"I'm going out there." Chris whispered the others, "Joyce, if anything happens, make a run for it."

Joyce nodded, "Here." she reached behind the toilet and withdrew a plunger, "Bash their brains out."

Chris wasn't sure whether to reassure her with a smile, or just bob his head like a plastic figure. He settled for the latter, before turning on his heel and heading out into the hallway.

The steps were just around the corner now, and there was no other way for them to go than right into Chris' plunger. He held his 'weapon' above his head, ready to strike, if necessary. The steps rounded the corner, and Chris made to strike out, stopping short when he realized who he was lashing out at.

Walter, Roger and Nick had returned, accompanied by Ben, "We found you!" Chris breathed.

"We found _you_." Walter corrected him, "Have you seen Carris?"

"No. But Joyce knows where he is."

"Joyce? She's safe?"

"Yeah. Follow me."

Chris led the four men over to the bathroom, where his companions waited.

"Walter!" Selia cried out, "Oh, Walter! Thank God!" she lunged forward, wrapping her arms around him.

Frances grabbed her brother by the arm and hugged him, "Good to see you're safe."

Nick sighed, "You act so surprised."

Joyce wiped at her eyes, "Well, we're together at last." she gave a watery smile, "I asked the chief of staff about Carris. She says that he discovered some tunnels in the elevator shaft and went to explore them."

"Then that's our next stop." Ben summed up.

"Good. Let's fetch the others." She led the procession down toward the lounge. As they moved, Chris overheard part of Frances' conversation with Roger:

"I missed you." Frances was saying.

"There wasn't anything wrong." Roger assured her, "No danger."

"I didn't know what to think." she ran her hands through her hair, "You and Nick—well, you're alright, and that's what matters."

"Does it matter that much to you?" Roger wondered.

"Very much!" Frances was indignant, "I love you, Roger."

"Do you?" Roger held Frances away from the others and kissed her full on. Chris averted his gaze, so as to give the two some privacy ad immediately began to engage Nick in conversation, so as to avert him from his sister's little moment.

Hilda sat in the kitchens. She had organized most of the staff to stay in the large room with her, while some other porters patrolled the corridors, making sure that no other guests were roaming around.

She had by now mostly forgotten what that woman had said to her about Carris and how she wanted to go looking for him. If she did, Hilda would do nothing to stop her.

Oh, how foolish the young were! They thought that they could take control of any situation and hold it from the reins.

Hilda would be sued, of course. All of this would cost her millions. The Lewis family wight sue for the death of that man on Weinbeck property. That rich Italian publisher would sue for the loss of his wife. Heavens knows who else would demand money for being put in danger of a serial killer!

This wouldn't have been her duty at all, if Weiss hadn't been killed. But he was dead now, and Hilda was the manager of the accursed Weinbeck Hotel.

She leaned against a counter-top, waiting—for what, she didn't know. The other members of the staff were also standing about, doing nothing much.

A maid crossed her way to one of the ice-boxes, opening it up, presumably to fetch some food. As the maid closed the fridge, there was a sudden flash of light, before the entire ice ice-box blasted apart in a torrent of searing, twisted metal.

People screamed as, all around the kitchen, other appliances exploded in rushes of sparks and smoke. The refrigerator, the stoves, even the sinks and the counter-tops.

Hilda screamed and threw herself to the floor and the door to the meat freezer fell over, and bits of butcher's meat went splattering and swishing over the tiles floor. Hilda heaved, as she saw Richard Lewis' corpse expelled from the freezer as well, landing very close to her.

Why was this happening? Who in their right mind put bombs inside kitchen appliances?

Hilda didn't have much more time to think, as a jagged metal shard—likely from one of the stoves—jutted out toward her, slitting her throat.

Hilda gasped and sputtered, flecks of blood dripping out of her mouth. The shard had slit open her jugular vein—she had no more than a few seconds to live.

Before death made her blind, Hilda saw that a great many, perhaps all of the other people in the kitchens had been killed, or at least were dying.

Where was that goddamned Constable Carris? If he had been in the hotel, he might have been able to tend to some of the wounds. Not Hilda's though, Hilda's was far too fatal.

A few more shuddering gasps escaped Hilda's lips, before her throat emptied out completely, bathing her in a puddle of her own lifeblood.

"What in hell was that?" Lois shrieked. She didn't normally swear, but this was definitely a good case for it. Everyone in the lounge had panicked on hearing that great noise. Like an explosion.

"My God—" Minerva looked out the door, "Selia!"

She pulled her daughter into a tight hold, as she entered the room, along with the others that had gone with her, and the three men they had gone to fetch. Lois creased her brow at seeing Ben Hastings was with them. What did they mean by freeing him?

"That noise," Signor DeStefano began, flustered, "where did it come from?"

"We don't know." Walter looked around at them all, "Come with us, all of you. It's safer that we all stay together from now on."

"Where are we going, now?" Lois asked shrilly, so much that Kathy had to lay a hand on her arm.

"We're going to the kitchen." Walter went on, "That's where the noises come from."

Lois shakilly stood up and left the room with the others.

Kathy had gone over to Chris and was speaking to him, sounding relieved, "Oh Chris, honey, thank God you're safe! Did you find anything interesting?"

"Nothing besides the people walking with us." Chris chuckled half-halfheartedly, "I'm just glad that you and the others are alright."

"Oh, of course I'm alright!" Kathy smiled, "Everything was perfectly under control!"

They went on some more, but Lois was too nervy to pay them any further attention.

Finally, their group reached the kitchens. Lois screamed, and she wasn't the only one; the room was littered in bodies. Almost everything was broken in some way, blood stained the white tiles—what had happened here?

Selia retched, nearly tripping over her little dog. The dog though, ran across the room, barked like mad.

"Eddy?" Minerva followed the little creature, in place of her swooning daughter, "Eddy, what is it?"

"Hair-ball's probably freaking out. God knows I am." said Ben, scowling at the carnage spread out around the room.

"Eddy's found something—Oh!" Minerva moaned, clutching her stomach.

"Mom?" Selia came too slightly, "What—what's happened?"

Chris and Roger hurried over to Minerva and found what Eddy had discovered. Lois and a few others trailed behind them.

It was the body of Minerva's husband: Richard. Lois remembered Selia saying he had been kept in the meat freezer. But Richard had already been dead for a while before this catastrophe.

More shocking, was what was beside Richard: the chief of staff, whatever her name had been, had had her head nearly severed from her neck by a piece of shrapnel. Lois couldn't help herself, she threw up on the floor.

While Kathy grabbed Lois' shoulders to steady her, the others noted what had drawn Eddy over to this part of the room. An elderly tabby cat was prowling about.

"Where did the cat come from?" Frances asked.

"It belonged to one of the employees." Joyce informed her, "Its owner is probably dead by now."

Kathy lifted Lois' face up to look at hers, "You alright, dear?"

"Y-yes." Lois coughed, "Oh my God—how awful!"

"That's it." Ben averted his eyes from the bloodbath, "We're getting out of here. They've killed pretty much everyone else in this goddamn place. We're heading out through the tunnels. Who knows, we might even find our useless cop."

"There might be other people around." said Nick, "More staff; they couldn't _all_ have been in here."

"Well it sucks for them." Ben shrugged, "You all have ten minutes to pack what you need. _Only _what you need. Meet the rest of us in the lobby by the elevator."

No one questioned Ben's sudden leadership of the group, least of all Lois.

They dispersed, getting ready for their journey.

Frances folded two of her favorite sweaters, placing them at the bottom of her large, leather shoulder-satchel.

"Bring extra socks, Nick!" she called as she scratched the tabby cat behind the ears. She and Nick had had a quick discussion, in which Frances had insisted that they keep the poor creature.

They couldn't very well have left the animal in the hotel could they? It would have starved to death before the next week was out.

Nick emerged from the bathroom, looking stricken, "Frances! Frances, look at this."

Frances ceased her toying with the cat at once, "What is it? Nick, what's wrong?"

"Follow me." he croaked. Not fully understanding this, but knowing that it must have been something bad.

Nick led Frances into the bathroom, "I don't see anything." she observed.

"Out the window." Nick moved to the little window above the toilet, and pointed. Frances did not scream. She had seen too much today to scream. Instead, she sucked in breath, staring up at the six porters that were strung up in a row, like men on a gallows, from the eaves of the Weinbeck hotel.

"That's it, then." the words slipped through her lips as softly as a serpent's hiss, "They've killed all of the staff."

"How?" Nick moaned, "How in hell did this guy drag six men to the roof and hang them without any of us noticing?"

"He must have done it while we were all in the kitchen." said Frances, she added as an afterthought, "Or she."

"What?"

"Or she. We don't know if it's a guy or a girl."

"That's just like you, Frances." Nick bowed his head, "Just like you. I'm gonna finish packing, and then we'll tell the others. They ought to know before we leave."

They headed back out to the sleeping-area and resumed packing. Frances was shaken, of course, but at least no one close to her had died yet. Reaching into the drawer of her bedside-table, she pulled out the plastic bag that contained the Christmas present that she had made for Nick. Christmas Day was almost passed, but she _would _give Nick the present. Once they were all well and away from Mount Rancour.

Rudi slung the old carpet bag containing his luggage onto his shoulder. The others were all assembled in the lobby, where the elevator doors were already open.

"Are we all here?" Ben asked.

"I think so." Kathy crinkled her brow, but Chris cut in, "No we're not!"

"What do you mean, Chris?" she looked at him, inquiring.

Chris replied, "Yvette's not here!"

"How can this be?" Lois sounded irritated and frightened, "Wasn't she with us in the kitchens?"

There was a long silence before Rudi realized, "No." his voice was faint, as if it no longer belonged to him, "No, she wasn't in the kitchens."

"When was she last seen?" Joyce wondered, "Does anyone know?"

"I last saw her in the lounge, before we left to find Walter and the others." Chris seemed to remember.

"She must have been taken while we were running to the kitchen!" Selia spoke frantically, clutching her dog to her chest.

"How could one man do that all at once?" Frances began to pace, "Rig bombs all over the kitchen, hang six men, _and _kidnap Yvette?"

"There might be more than one killer." Walter suggested, "An accomplice, maybe."

"What if the 'accomplice' is the exact same person we think was kidnapped?" Ben cocked an eyebrow, apparently enjoying their shocked expressions, "It's possible."

"No, it's not." Chris shook his head, "She has no motive."

"That we know of." Roger pointed out.

"This is ridiculous!" said Selia, loud enough to be heard over the rush of arguing voices, "Let's just crawl into those tunnels and get the hell out of this place!"

"Selia," Minerva sighed, "We can't just abandon a helpless person to the mercy of a homicidal maniac."

"Oh, I know!" Selia was exasperated, "I just want to get off this damn mountain!"

"Than let's get off." said Ben, "For all we know, Yvette could be lying dead as we speak. There's no use waiting around for her. We've already done that with the Constable. Look how many people died because of that."

"He's right." Nick nodded, "I hate to admit it, but whatever happened to Yvette is not our concern."

Rudi pondered for a moment; it was true, that Yvette was a stranger to most of them—exempting Chris and maybe Kathy. And besides, Rudi wanted to leave as much as the rest of them. But could he live the rest of his life with the thought that he had left the hotel, leaving Yvette to die?

"We should go." he said, at last, "Who knows? Perhaps she was taken into the tunnels, anyway."

"The killer in the tunnels." Gloria shuddered, "That makes me feel a lot better."

"It's better in there than in here." Ben decided, "At least in the tunnels we can make a run for it if he comes at us."

"True." Roger nodded, "Let's move out."

Their little troupe filed into the elevator, and one-by-one climbed through the open trapdoor inside, leading into the chute itself. As Rudi climbed in, he noticed a small black device, such as the kind he often saw young people plugging into their computers at the _trattorias_ back home. He picked it up, and noticed that it bore a label with the name: _Nicholas Antoni_ born across it.

As Nick was just about the climb through the trapdoor, Rudi stopped him, saying, "Excuse me. Nicholas, correct?"

"Yeah?"

"I believe this fell out of your pocket." he handed Nick the device.

"Thanks." Nick seemed genuinely relieved, "This has got my entire novel on it. Seeing as I can't drag my laptop along at this escapade, I have to preserve my work somehow."

Rudi nodded, smiling a little, as he climbed through the trapdoor.

A/N: Sorry for not ending the chapter with a death, but I didn't think it was necessary! Well, now the entirety of the hotel staff is dead, and Yvette is missing. Next chapter will be fun to write, if you ask me.

Update Coming Next Friday!:)


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9, Bang!

Disclaimer: Same as ever.

A/N: At last, it's Friday! I can't wait to get this weekend started. And thanks for quasifictionlist for reviewing chapters two and three. Nice to see your back on the site! I hope this means that we can expect a new chapter of Sheppard's_ Island, _soon? I hope so!

Well, enough of my ramblings; let's get started!

Frances held the little tabby cat—no one seemed to know what she was called before her owner had died, and Frances was in no mood to give it a new name at the moment—close to her as she waited for the others to be helped through the small crack in the side of the elevator shaft, and into the tunnel.

When they had all assembled at last, Frances set the cat down, where she immediately went over to mingle with Selia's dog: Eddy.

"It's a bit of a tight squeeze." Selia's mom pointed out, "Do you think the tunnel widens out?"

"Let's hope so." Ben answered, "Or else we'll all suffocate before we see the light of day."

They began to move along the musty, low-lying path, some of them occasionally stumbling. Frances and Selia both kept a close eye on their pets, Selia at one point, carrying Eddy with her. Frances was well-enough inclined to let her cat prowl along on foot, so long as it stayed close to her.

Her satchel was already feeling heavy on her back, but that could be attributed to the fact that she didn't walk very often. Nick actually was making a more brisk pace—he had always tried to convince her to go jogging with him in the mornings, but the desert air was something Frances never had gotten used to, even after all of her time in Vegas.

Roger was staying near the front of the group, seeming to have taken a position as Ben's second in command. Frances thought it unnecessary that Ben had made himself leader in the first place, and as much as she liked Roger, she couldn't find the need for a 'vice-leader'. For heaven's sake, they were a group of bedraggled refuges, not a political party!

She saw that Gloria Miller was close enough to her. She hadn't taken the time to get to know her very well, but she felt comfortable talking to her all the same.

"Hey." Frances sidled along to Gloria, a smile on her face, "How are you holding up?"

Gloria turned to her, seemingly surprised that Frances wanted to have a conversation with her, "I'm good, thanks."

"Cool." said Frances, "Oh, watch out!"

Gloria stumbled over a loose mound of stone in the path, Frances reached a hand out to steady her.

"Thank you." Gloria panted, her eyes even wider than usual, "This place will be the death of me." she didn't sound as if she were joking, "I'm accident prone, already, but now there's actually someone on the loose who's _trying _to kill me."

"Why, do you think?" Frances decided to change the subject.

"I don't know" Gloria sighed, "I don't know anything, do I? Do you really think that the killer is in these tunnels—with Yvette?"

"Maybe he is." Frances was unsure of what to say next, "Did you know Yvette very well?"

"She was friends with Chris." Gloria paused, "I don't think she liked me very much."

"Why not?"

"I think she thought that Chris was—involved with me. She liked Chris. She liked him a lot."

Frances didn't want to go even further into unmarked territory, but she couldn't help asking, "Did Chris like her?"

"I don't think he thought of her as anything more than a friend. Like me."

She said no more after this, and things in the tunnel were quiet for a while.

"'Three roads diverged in a wood.'" Kathy quoted, "'I took the road less traveled, and that has made all the difference.'" she was referring to the three separate paths that split the tunnel into smaller passages.

"Which one?" wondered Minnie, looking ahead into the darkness.

"We ought to split up." said Ben nonchalantly.

"What?" was the rousing chorus.

"We can't split up!" Lois snapped, "What if only one tunnel leads outside? What will happen to the ones who didn't take that one?"

"If one tunnel doesn't lead anywhere, than that group can take one of the other two." Ben said simply.

"What if the tunnels spread out even further beyond this fork?" Lois went on, "We could be wandering around forever in the dark and the damp!"

"Well that sucks, than." Ben smiled, "But some people will get out, they can get help from the village-folk, and then people will come down here and get the rest out!"

"We could all be dead by then!" Lois moaned, tears streaming down her face. Kathy took her by the shoulder, "Lois," she said firmly, "Calm down. I know we might not all agree with Ben's view on things, but it's the best solution. If all take separate paths as one group, it might take ages to explore this labyrinth." she looked at Ben, her face reflecting none of the warmth with which she had spoken to Lois, "I'll leave it to you to organize the groups, though I _am _going with Lois."

Lois nodded her head shakilly at this, as if in thanks.

Ben crossed his arms, looking at each person in their group, "Okay, we'll have these two," he nodded his head to Kathy and Lois, "going with Roger, Frances, Nick and—whatever your name is." he pointed to Signor DeStefano, "You guys will take the left tunnel. Walter, Selia, Joyce, and old lady Lewis," Minerva looked aghast at this, "You'll take the right tunnel. And I'll go with you guys." he looked Chris and Gloria up, "It looks like I'll have my hands full."

"Is that an insult?" Chris took offense, which didn't usually happen.

"Cool down, soldier." Ben rolled his eyes, "We'll take the center tunnel."

"Why isn't Roger going with us?" Joyce objected, "He's family, too, and you seem to have taken pains to put our family together!"

"He's in Frances' group because they're a couple." Ben smirked, "Couples always go together."

"You're not funny." Selia said flatly, "Not at all."

Ben shrugged this off, "We're wasting time. Let's move out."

Joyce tittered at this, and crossed to Roger, "Be careful out there."

"Sis, you know I can take care of myself." Roger smiled jokingly, before sweeping his big sister up in a bear-hug.

Joyce looked at Frances, "Take care of him, now."

"I will." she replied, feeling a little more at ease now that Joyce was trusting her.

"Come on." Walter took Selia's hand and squeezed it, "Let's march."

The three groups went along down their separate paths, luggage on their arms. Selia held Eddy close to her, as the tabby cat trotted at Frances' heels.

"My God!" Erzebeth shuddered, her words dissipating into the smoke and dying flames that illumined the snowy night.

The apartment building. The place where poor Maria lived. It was burning down, crumbling away in a terrible inferno.

They heard distant screams—perhaps there were some survivors.

"What are we going to do?" Rachel asked, her hair, which was so severely tied back, whipping around her head, "We have to help them!"

"Wait here, Rachel." Erzebeth commanded her companion, "I'm heading inside."

"Erzebeth!" Rachel pulled her arm, "I'll go in. You're—"

"Old?" Erzebeth suggested, "Weak? Helpless? Rachel, a very dear friend of mine lives in that building and it's partly on my account that she was left here for this."

Rachel sighed, "I'll look for survivors." she staggered through the snow drifts, following the sounds of the cries.

Erzebeth steeled her nerves. She had to help Maria—if she still could. For Erzebeth knew that it was her fault Maria had been left stranded in Geimhaven. Erzebeth's failed investigation into Reynald's death had lasted too long, and now, with the weather and the missing—likely dead—Zaccarias Oscow, Maria's prolonged stay in the village could be boiled down to Erzebeth.

She stepped through the door, the find that the majority of the building had already collapsed, and the fire was dying down.

Erzebeth tried her hardest to avert her eyes from the burnt bodies that were strewn along the stairs, half buried by chunks of masonry.

"Hello?" Erzebeth called, accompanied by the distant wail of the wind from outside, "Maria?"

"Erzebeth?" came a voice that Erzebeth knew only too well, "I'm up here!"

"Where is 'up here'?"

"On the stairs! Behind all the rubble."

"Is there anyone else up with you?" Erzebeth felt inclined to ask.

"Only dead people." Maria replied, "The fire—it started with my stove."

"What?" Erzebeth wouldn't hear any more of this, "Tell me the rest later! I'll get you out!"

She hastened up towards the heap of fallen ceiling and began, piece by piece, to move the stones and chunks of plaster aside.

This would be a long and grueling task.

Ben led the two people who were with him in his group down the tunnel. The passage was getting narrower, though the ceiling was still rather high for an underground structure.

Ben reasoned that they had left the Hotel Weinbeck, that fortress of corpses, behind long ago, and were now penetrating deeper and deeper into Mount Rancour.

Chris and Gloria were moving forward sluggishly, a fact that bothered Ben immensely. He himself was making quite a fine pace all his own.

This was getting rather boring, Ben figured, and so he decided to liven things up again.

"_I'm still alive!_" he sang, terribly high pitched, "_And when you're dying I'll still be alive! And when you're dead I'll still be alive—still alive. Still alive—_"

"What the hell was that about?" asked Chris, steadying himself against the wall. Gloria nodded, as if agreeing with him. She was shaking like a leaf and didn't seem in a fit state to speak at the moment.

"It's the theme song for _Portal_." Ben informed them, "It's a game." he continued, on seeing their blank faces, "I was just trying to brighten things up a bit! You two act like you were at a funeral."

"If you think about it, we kind of _are_." Chris held Gloria's shoulder to ease her up, "Good God, you really have no tact, Ben!"

"Sticks and stones!" Ben replied in a sing-song voice, "Besides, we're bound to find a way out eventually."

"Fat chance." Gloria spoke as if she were in a trance.

"What?" Ben raised an eyebrow.

Gloria pointed into the shadows a little ahead of them. There were a series of rusty steel grates that seemed to have been lowered before them. These grates stretched on into the darkness, with about a foot of space between each one.

"Who do you think put those there?" Gloria wondered.

"Our killer, perhaps." Chris suggested.

"That would mean that the bastard's down here with us."

"They may have been lowered long before the killer ever came along." Gloria shrugged, "Maybe there was a cave-in farther down, and these gate-things are supposed to keep trespassers away."

"That would sound more likely if we knew what the hell these tunnels were for." Ben sighed, "Look there!" he pointed to a niche in the wall, barely perceptible. In this little niche was a wooden crank and pulley, with a length of sturdy chain-links wound around it.

"This must lift them up." Ben gestured to the grates, "Time for some elbow grease."

Surprisingly, the pully was not a heavy device, and Ben was making good progress, lifting one grate with each turn of the winch, "Dude!" he nodded at Chris, "Head down there! See what's up."

Chris replied in assent, and made to move down the passage as the grates lifted in front of him.

Gloria stood there, watching her friend being swallowed by shadow.

"This isn't right!" she turned to Ben, "Someone could be waiting for him down there!"

"Cool it down, doll-face." Ben stifled a laugh, "Why would the killer fence himself in, anyway?" he resumed turning the wench while Gloria replied, "The killer might have fenced off' the exit! Chris could be walking right into his hands!"

Ben was about to think of some clever reply, before he was cut off by Chris' cry of horror.

"Oh no!" Gloria wailed, "No! No! No!" Gloria, defying all of Ben's expectations, ran right _into _the danger.

"Wait!" Ben called after her, "Don't leave me here, dammit!" he trotted after her and saw what Chris was staring at.

Constable Carris was sprawled out of the ground. Judging by the ugly, red puncture wounds along his back, there had previously been a grate lodged there.

"Well, at least now we know why he never came back to the hotel." Ben gave a little laugh, hoping that being sardonic would distract the others from the initial shock.

It didn't work. Gloria set to sobbing, stricken, on Chris' shoulder, which he had proffered to her.

Ben turned around at the sound of falling metal. The grates—they were coming down again! _What an idiot I am! _Ben thought to himself. He had left the winch unattended, and now they were going to meet the same fate as the Constable.

"Run!" Gloria grabbed at his arm, "Come on!"

The three of them hurried forward down the tunnel. With each step, another grate _'clanged!_' its way into place behind them.

At last, they reached the end of the passage, where it turned abruptly to the right.

Hurry!" Chris pushed Gloria around the bend and snatched Ben away, just as a grate tore through his jacket.

Looking at his shredded garment in awe, Ben, panted in shock, surveyed the tunnel they had come down. All the grates had fallen, of course; they were sealed here, in this dark, damp maze.

And Ben had nearly been ripped to pieces. He looked at Chris, the breath still emitting from his mouth in shaky gasps, "T-thanks, man." he breathed, "You saved my life."

"You're welcome." Chris replied, simply, holding Gloria. To her, he said, "You all right?"

"I-I'm good." she buried looked around the bend at the barred way and said, "So, I guess now we've nowhere to go but onward."

Chris smiled, "So long as everyone's okay. And if our leader says so." he was speaking with a lighthearted sarcasm, looking at Ben.

"Yeah." Ben snapped to his feet, he needed to regain his composure, "Try and keep up, you two. I don't think any of us want to be lost down here."

And, back to his usual self, Ben led the others onward. The one change that could be seen in Ben, was that he had realized—surprisingly for the first time in his life, that he wasn't immortal.

He'd need help if we wanted to get out of this mess alive.

Maria had taken to speed up her rescue process. Namely, by helping Erzebeth moving the rubble away from her own side of the 'wall'.

The blizzard outside wasn't as loud as it had been earlier. Maria wished she knew what time it was, but it was too dark to see her wrist-watch. She assumed that it was about three in the morning—already Sunday.

She had heard the other apartment tenants scream and die as they had been crushed under the collapsing structure. She supposed some of them must have gotten out in time. But she knew that the majority of them were long gone. The fire had been put out, though, by the snow; but the smell of smoke still lingered in the cold air.

At last, a space appeared in the barrier wide enough for Maria to squeeze through, "Maria!" came Erzebeth's voice, "Oh, thank God!"

Maria scrambled through the little space and right into Erzebeth's arms.

"Thank you, Erzebeth!" said Maria, her voice tremulous with relief, "Thank you, so much!"

"Don't mention it, child." Erzebeth said, as casually as if she had only found Maria her pen, "But come, we must meet with Rachel!"

"Rachel?" Maria inquired. She remembered the name very vaguely, "Do you mean the shop-keeper?"

"Yes, yes. We met with her on Thursday!"

They stepped out into the street, where Maria was able to get a good look at what remained of her 'home' in Geimhaven. Half of the building had crumbled to a charred wreck. The other half—the one Maria had been in—was still smoking, emitting black, noxious, fumes that were quickly lost amidst the snow, that was no longer blowing about in drifts, but was simply falling straight down in great amounts.

The storm's calming down at last, at least." Erzebeth nodded, "That's good. Now tell me, Maria: what were you saying about your stove?"

Maria fidgited with the buttons of her fine, gray coat, which was now stained with soot and cinder, "I was taking my dinner off of the stove-top," she began at last, "and the stove exploded. The fire spread so fast. The entire top floor was in flames before I was halfway down the stairs." she shuddered, "All those people—it was terrible."

Erzebeth bit her lip, "No doubt, it was intentional."

"What?"

"Someone rigged your stove to explode like that. Someone wanted this building up in flames."

"But—" Maria had previously pondered the idea of someone setting the whole thing up. Now she had the full idea, "The serial killer."

"Yes!" Erzebeth launched into a speech, "The same fiend who murdered Ernst Reynald, Zaccarias Oscow—for, of course, he must be dead—maybe even Constable Carris, wherever he is. This lunatic is bent on killing every soul in the village. We'll find Rachel, and than we'll go back to her store. It's safe there. Safe as houses."

"Erzebeth!" and there was that pale, eerily pretty girl that Maria had almost forgotten. She came over to them, looking flushed and excited.

"Rachel, there you are!" Erzebeth was suddenly back to being business-like and to the point, "I found Maria. She says her stove exploded."

"Exploded?" Rachel's dark eyes darted from Maria to Erzebeth quick as anything, "What do you mean?"

Erzebeth sighed, "Rachel, I suppose it's time you knew what's been going on." she paused, before muttering, almost to herself, "Yes, you should know as soon as possible. No use waiting until we're back in the shop. There's a homicidal killer running loose around Geimhaven." Erzebeth said in that same calm quality she always had when discussing the current events, however shocking they might be.

"A killer?" Rachel croaked the words out, as if her lips couldn't properly shape them, "How do you know?"

"Herr Reynald was poisoned, Rachel, you know that. I also know that you don't quite believe that Geraldine killed him. As for Zaccarias. _Your _Zaccarias—it's quite clear to me by know, that he must be dead."

Rachel's eyes moved to the ground, and Maria saw that Rachel had been suspecting this fact for some time. Finally, Rachel said, "We must get back to my store. If there _is _a murderer out here somewhere, we'd be better protected behind locked doors."

They spoke no more to each other as they traveled through the village, sticking only to the darker side-streets and alleyways.

It was strangely peaceful, and yet the situation itself was as far from peace as anything could be.

Frances thought it lucky that she and Nick had been put into the largest group. It was very easy, in this way, to simply blend in amongst the others. Also, her companions were nice enough. Lois had calmed a bit at listening to Kathy recount stories about her life in Virginia. Signor DeStefano was being amusing in his own way; telling jokes that eased the others' mood somewhat. Roger and Nick chatted like best friends, and for once, Nick had found an outlet with which to discuss his book.

Frances was content to join in on each of the conversations going on around her, so long as they helped her relax. The cat was now being carried in her shoulder bag, as Frances' hated to think what would become of it if it got lost in these tunnels.

"Is anyone else very hungry?" Lois asked at one point.

Frances nodded, "I haven't eaten since breakfast."

"What time is it, does anyone know?" Signor DeStefano wondered.

Roger eyes his watch, "Three-thirty, Sunday morning."

"That explains why I'm so tired!" Lois chuckled. Kathy smiled, "We shouldn't have much farther to walk. We must have covered quite a few miles already. This walking is wonderful for my heart, let me tell you; my doctor's been urging me to walk for years."

Rudi chuckled, "Isn't it strange how we don't do most things until we are forced to?"

"Yes, very strange."

Frances moved over to her brother, and spoke to him, "You alright?"

Nick nodded, "Yeah. Just tired."

And then, quite suddenly, the harmonious peace that they had been traveling in was cut through by screams—screams of pain and anguish.

"That—that sounds like Yvette!" Roger breathed.

"No! No, that's impossible—" Lois had grown pale. Paler than a porcelain doll.

But the screams continued. Yvette was nearby, and she was being hurt badly.

"We've got to help her!" Nick was the first to come to this realization, though Frances was a quick second, "Yeah, we've got to find her!"

But before there could be any further discussion on the matter, the tunnels were rent by a gunshot. Loud and blasting, it cut the screams off assuredly.

The six of them stared ahead of them into the darkness. Mouths agape, they listened for the sounds of footsteps, of the killer coming toward them.

Instead, Frances gave a sharp cry as her cat let out a yowl, leaping out the the shoulder bag, just as the entire tunnel began to shake.

The gunshot had caused a cave-in. A relatively minor, cave-in, yes, but it was still a threat. Dust rained down from the ceiling, coating them all in a thick, gray film. The dust was followed by brick and stone and plaster. Chunks plucked from the ceiling and walls of the tunnel around them.

"Watch it!" Roger brought Frances out of her stunned stupor, pulling her out of the way of a large piece of rubble that clambered down a mere hair's bredth from Frances.

Frances coughed, sputtering, as she expelled the chalky dust from her lungs. Her hair was strewn through with pebbles and her shoulder bag had upturned, turning all her possessions onto the floor around her.

Where was the cat? That was the question to be answered as Frances groped about in the dark, gathering her things back into their place. It would be terrible if the animal had been crushed.

Crushed! Terrible indeed, in that the several-layers thick barrier of heavy stone filled half the stretch of tunnel that they had been in. Who knew what had become of the others?

"Frances!" a voice hissed through the dark. Roger's voice.

"Roger! Roger, oh God!" Frances threw her arms around him and they kissed, for the first time in a while. They kissed, making things somewhat awkward as it was so dark, "Have you seen Nick? Or Kathy?"

"About that—" Frances, barely able to see the outline of Roger's head in the shadows, saw him run a hand through his hair, "Come over here."

Frances felt much colder, all of a sudden. What terrible thing did Roger want to show her? Who else had lost their life?

"Frances!" Kathy called through the barricade, "Frances! Nick! Lois!" she bit her lip, "Roger!"

She looked behind her, where she could make out the somewhat distinct figure of Signor DeStefano, "They're not answering!" she said, her voice shaking with inward sobs, "Oh good heavens, what if they're all dead?"

Signor DeStefano didn't offer much consolation. Instead, he said, "We must head back the way we came. We should find the others before they end up shot dead as well."

Kathy did not want to think it, but she knew she must. Signor DeStefano was right: Yvette had been shot, and Lois and all the rest of them were buried beneath the cold heap of rock that was mounded high before her.

She had to find Chris—find him before he, too, was dead.

She was about to tell Signor DeStefano that they should, indeed, move along, when she heard a sickly meowing.

"Oh no." Kathy moaned, "Oh, dear God!"

she scrambled into a nook and found the cat that Frances had taken for her own. Thank heavens the thing wasn't as hurt as it sounded. Still, it was rather unfair that it had survived, while the the humans that had been with it had died.

"There, there, you poor thing." Kathy scooped the cat up, "I guess now two of your owners are gone."

She returned to Signor DeStefano, "I found this poor thing over by the rubble."

He nodded, "Let's be off."

And they left.

Frances didn't want to look at it. She didn't want to have to see the figure, faintly outlined in the dark. She did not want to see her twin—her dearest brother lying, half-crushed beneath the heap of stones and rubble. He was not yet dead, though he breathing was ragged and labored. He didn't have much time left until all the air was pressed out of him, as if by a vice.

What was worse: his arm was wound around something. Something from Frances' shoulder bag. The gift that she had made him—the knitted scarf that she had made with yarn purchased at Rachel Bartow's shop. He must have caught hold of it, to steady himself, and now it only served to keep him pinned under the rocks.

"Sis—" his misty eyes looked at Frances when she drew near. She turned around to see Roger keeping a distance back. This was not his time for interference, he knew, "Was this thing your idea of a Christmas present?"

"Always the critic." said Frances, her eyes misting up as she spoke, "Oh my God, Nick—oh God!"

"It's alright." Nick grimaced, "I didn't much relish the idea of sticking around down here much longer, anyway." his voice was growing more and more faint. It must have been a great task to even muster up words with which to speak, "This fell out of my pocket, thank God. Take it." with frail fingers, he gestured to his little flash-drive. Miraculously, it had survived the cave-in, and seemed perfectly intact, but for a light coating of dust.

"Get it published." Nick went on, "It's almost finished, anyway."

Tears were now flowing full force down Frances' face, "Nick—I'm sorry I was so judgmental! So, so, sorry! I've always unappreciated you—taken you for granted. Please, know that I'm sorry!"

Nick grimaced painfully, perhaps trying to smile, "I have my own apologies to make, sis. I—I've been stubborn with you. And I—"

He paused, trying to say more, but, as much as he strained, words would not come, and he fell limp.

"Nick!" Frances knew this would happen. But she refused to believe it, "Nick! No, no, _no_!" she wailed. She reached for her brother's hand, which was already cold and probably had been for a while.

He was dead. Frances' brother; her last surviving family member. She was all alone now. But these thought were almost immediately contradicted. Roger was behind Frances, taking her in his arms, letting her weep, silently but fiercely into his shirt.

Life wasn't fair. Her parents had long been gone. That good-for-nothing cat had run off to save its own skin. Her brother was now dead, leaving behind no token but a little flash-drive with a incomplete novel stored inside it.

Why was life so cruel? That Frances now had only Roger. Roger, whom she had just met no more than six days ago. Roger, who was simply a shallow love interest, if nothing else.

But Roger did hold onto Frances. He held her until her tears had dried and her sobs had reduced to little, watery whimpers.

Eddy was barking nervously, and Selia had a very good idea as to why. They had heard the shot from a distance. Mom and Joyce had wanted to turn back and see if any of the other groups had come to harm. Joyce had clearly been worried about Roger, and Walter, too seemed anxious. But he had insisted that they would only be causing more damage if they went back.

And, considering things, there was a one in nine chance that the one shot they had hear had been directed at Roger. More likely it was one of the others; not that that was very reassuring in and of itself.

"Mom," Selia approached her mother, "Mom, please try to keep up."

"It was true that she was lagging a bit.

"I'm trying, Selia honey, but I'm not as young as I once was. I know I'm being a burden and all—"

"Shh." Selia gently pressed her finger against Mom's lips, "You're not hindering us, Mom. I just don't want you sticking so close to the back of the group. We don't know who's waiting back there." her eyes moved tentatively down the way they had come. Those all-consuming shadows that slung to the walls and the ceiling; forever masking the sounds of those squeaking rats scampering through the icy-cold network of passages.

So, for the rest of the way down the tunnel, Selia and Eddy stuck to the rear of the party, while Mom walked ahead of her with Joyce. Walter continued to lead their group, occasionally looking back to make sure his fiance was okay.

The path was long, and they met none of the others among the twists and turns. The bends and slopes going up and down, up and down, up and down, until:

"Here!" Walter was exuberant, "Stairs! Narrow, stairs, but it's a way out of here, all the same!"

Joyce swept her brother into a hug, with Selia joined in on, "Oh, we're saved!" she felt happy enough to dance, though her legs were far too tired for such an endeavor, "You're a wonder, Walter!"

"I didn't do anything." Walter cracked a smile, "I just walked in a straight line, hoping to find an exit."

"Well, we did!" Selia spun in a joyful circle.

Mom, who had taken her heels off, so as to rub her feet, let out a sigh of relief, "This is wonderful. I'm all for going up there as fast as possible. But shouldn't we go and tell the others?"

For once, Joyce disagreed with Selia's mother, "Minnie, this might be our only chance. Who knows if we'll ever find this place again? And, aside from that—you heard that gunshot before."

A dead silence fell upon the four, broken only by a few nervy yelps from Eddy, who was growling at a scrawny rat that was scurrying about nearby. In that silence, Selia noticed that Joyce was shaking, "I know Roger's out there." she said at last, her voice near to breaking, "But he wouldn't want us to go back for him. He'd just call us a pack of idiots for turning away."

Walter thought about this for a moment, and said, "True. And like Ben said, we should be able to reign some of the villagers in to help us."

"How do we know those stairs lead to the village?" asked Mom.

"We don't. We might still be on Mont Rancour, and if that's so, we'll have a long hike ahead of us."

Mom looked down at her blistered feet and leaned against the wall, "Let's just go up there," she said at last, "And see what we're up against."

They all agreed to this. Selia scooped up Eddy, happy that he hadn't gone off chasing the rats, and followed the others up the steep stairs, to where a heavy stone trapdoor was inlaid in the ceiling.

"Here we go." Walter, with some effort, pushed the trapdoor aside and they all clambered up into what seemed to be a little work-shed. There were wooden shelves built into the walls; on these shelves were boxes and coils of rope. The floor, which was hewn of a solid stone block, was covered in heavy, wooden crates with stenciled-on labels in German.

"This must be the village." Selia decided at once, "Let's head outside. We need to get help."

Joyce made for the door of the shed and tried it, finding that it was locked tight from the other side, "Great!" she threw her arms into the air, "Just great!"

"We could break the door down." Mom suggested, "I'm sure the owner won't mind, seeing as this _is _a life-and-death matter."

"Right." Walter nodded. He positioned himself just so, motioned for the others to stay back, and rammed his shoulder into the door several times, though the door would not give.

Just when Walter was about to hurl a crate into the door in desperation, it opened, revealing a pale girl with jet-black hair severely pinned back. She held a broomstick, and was brandishing it as though it were a weapon.

"What," she began, her voice shaking, "Are you lot doing in my shed?"

Selia instinctively held the growling Eddy closer to her.

This was going to take some explaining.

Lois ran, and ran, and ran as fast as her legs had carried her. As soon as the tunnel had started collapsing, she had known that she must get away from the place as fast as she possibly could.

She hoped that Kathy and the others had managed to avoid coming to harm—and that, they might perhaps come for her. Lois had admitted to herself long ago that she had quite lost her way in this maze of twisting underground passages.

Why did she have to be wearing high heels today? Her feet were dreadfully sore, and yet she didn't want to stop to take her shoes off. They had all heard Yvette's screams and the gunshot that had answered them.

Lois didn't want the gunman catching up with her. But where was she now? This wasn't the original fork in the path, oh no! Lois was standing in a place where six different tunnels of varying heights and widths were branched out like the tendrils of a wild rosebush.

Lois didn't know which way to turn, as long as she was able to meet up with some of the others, she'd be alright, she supposed.

Finally, Lois selected a tunnel that had considerably more space in it than the one that she had been following previously. Her shoes made sharp _clap-clap_ sounds on the solid floor. Goodness, how cold it was down here! Lois wondered whether the blizzard had stopped yet, and if it was usually this chilly in the tunnels.

Was that a door up ahead? Why, yes it was! A wooden door, festooned with a rusty metal clutch stood amongst the peeled plaster and exposed stone. There hadn't been any such things so far in Lois' journey. Perhaps she had found the way out; that would be lovely!

She stepped up to the door and pulled the clutch. The room that the door opened on to was sparsely furnished, with a table, some rickety wooden chairs and a cupboard. Unlike the rest of the tunnels, this room was lit—albeit dimly—by a flickering candle on the table.

Once Lois' eyes had recovered from this sudden light after the musty darkness that she had been in for the last few hours, she saw the metal pole that ran through the center of the room, from the floor to the ceiling. Tied to this pole, with very sturdy ropes, was someone whom Lois knew.

"Yvette?" Lois gasped. The singer was indeed bound and gagged. Her golden hair strewn through with dust and dirt, and her sweater stained with patches of gray. Yvette's blue eyes widened, urgently, as if pleading.

Before Lois could quite comprehend was Yvette was trying to tell her, she felt a stabbing pain in the small of her back. Stabbing! Of course, it was a cleaver's knife that had been run into her. Crying in pain, Lois fell against the wall, unable to resist as a figure stepped over to the candle on the table and pinched out the flame, just before she could take in any details.

The figure thrust the knife into Lois again, and again, and again. Into her chest, her arms, her hips. Lois screamed and screamed until she could cry out no more.

It had all been for naught! Her flight from the cave-in and the shots had all been worthless, for now she was dying, bleeding out faster than water gushes down a falls.

Her son back home; he'd probably go on to make great films, unhindered by the pressures of his mother to do something else. Would he miss her? Probably a little, though he might never even know the full story of what had happened.

Lois let loose with a few more ragged breaths, before she died her cruel and pathetic death.

A/N: And that was our 'secret passage' chapter! Fun fact: the idea of secret passagways was what interested me in mystery stories in the first place. There's some ripping good secret tunnels in the latest Flavia de Luce book, but I shan't say anymore on that.

It really did hurt to kill off Nick, but I've had that scene planned for ages! And Lois—poor, innocent, flighty, Lois! I didn't want to kill her off later, but her death will lead to some important information being revealed next chapter.

Also, Yvette is alive and tied up—we'll see more of that, later.

Update Coming Friday!:)


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10, Whoosh!

Disclaimer: Plot and characters our ours. The premise isn't.

A/N: Long week, I know. Before we get started with Chapter 10, I have a few notices to make: one, thanks to quasifictionlist for reviewing again! Your comments are appreciated. Another announcement: it may take a little longer for Chapter 11 to be put up, as I am tinkering with the final act of this story. Thus, don't worry if we don't update next week, the chapter well come along, but probably not at its usual time. With that said, let's roll!

"That actually explains a lot." Maria nodded, looking at the strangers who said that they had come from the hotel on the mountain above them.

Erzebeth pursed her lips in concentration, "We were right, Maria. There is a killer about."

"We have to go back into the tunnels!" the male of the strangers, who called himself 'Walter' spoke hurriedly, "My brother's down there."

Rachel agreed to this, "I think we should all head down there, and find them. There's strength in numbers."

"We should get some others from around here." Walter's sister: Joyce, pushed some hair out of her eyes, "The more the better."

"I'm sorry to tell you this, child," Erzebeth hastened to point out, "but we have reason the believe that the majority of my fellow villagers have been murdered as well. Maria here, was nearly roasted alive."

"They can't all be dead!" the younger woman: Selia burst out.

"No doubt there are still some people still alive," Erzebeth admitted, "But to go outside is foolhardy."

"The killer's still in the tunnels." Joyce insisted, "We heard him fire a gun."

"Ah, but while the killer was sulking around your hotel," Erzebeth's voice increased in volume like an excitable siren, "people were being killed here in Geimhaven!" 

Selia's mother, Minerva, paled, "You don't mean to say—"

"Oh, but I do!" Erzebeth was now flushed as a beet in July, "There are _two _killers! Very likely they are working with each other. One of them is here, in the village, murdered the locals, while the other is in the tunnel-system, stalking the Christmas guests!"

Reflexively, all their eyes turned to the windows that lined the shop, "I'll draw the blinds." Rachel dashed around the room like a midge, pulling the curtains down over the windows, making sure the door was locked and bolted, and wedging her broom under the handle, "There!" she said, satisfied, "No one's getting in here."

Though, as if to say: _On the contrary_, there was suddenly a sound of hammering on the walls.

"What the hell was that?" Selia clutched the sales counter, while her dog barked like mad.

The killer—one of them, at least—was outside the shop.

Gloria felt adrenaline pumping in her legs, propelling her forward, though she felt too tired to even lift her foot. Ben moved expertly quick, not hindered by his recent near-death experience. The one thing that seemed to have changed in Ben, was that he now seemed to regard Chris as a human being. Probably because Chris had saved his life.

The two talked occasionally, as they made their way along. Chris now seemed more relaxed around Gloria, and would reach his hand out for her to take. Gloria liked the way Chris' hand felt: soft, but with a firm grip.

"How much farther do you think we're gonna go?" wondered Gloria to no one in particular.

"Depends." Ben shrugged, "The path keeps twisting and turning, but it's widening out now—maybe we're nearly in the village."

"It feels like we're _miles _behind the village." Chris realized, "What if we've skirted around it? What if we'll just walk out of here on some barren, rocky wasteland in the middle of the Alps?"

"We're about to find out." Ben pointed ahead of them. It took a bit of a while for Gloria to make out what he was looking at, but when she saw what if was, she was overjoyed. Steps! Stairs going up—up to the surface!

"Come on!" she cried, unable to disguise her joy. She ran and ran, her hair billowing out behind her like the tail of a kite. Chris trotted alongside her, at one point taking her in his arms and twirling her in a circle.

They were going back. Back to the light, and the fresh air—and wonderful, frigid air with ice clinging to every particle.

The three of them made quick work, galloping up the steps like a pack of race horses. At the top of the stairs, a slab of gray stone was inset.

"Ready to see civilization?" Ben asked them, pushing with all his might against the door.

"Hell yes!" Chris agreed, as he and Gloria joined Ben in his work. At last, the slab was lifted aside, and the climbed through the little space into—

Another tunnel.

"No!" Gloria choked on her words, the joy she had been feeling seconds earlier turning her heart to stone, "No!"

Ben began to let loose with a torrent of choice swears that were quite nasty in their own right. Chris, though, was looking around, "Wait." he said, sniffing the damp air, "Follow me!"

He ran down the passage, closely followed by Gloria and Ben.

"Where are we going, now?" Ben asked, annoyed.

"I knew it!" was all Chris replied. He was looked at a broad set of ruinous stairs, "We're _not _in the tunnels anymore. We're in some kind of basement."

They moved up the steps, Gloria feeling a little more apprehensive than she had been earlier. There was no trapdoor this time. Rather, there was a wide stone arch that opened onto a courtyard.

The ground in this courtyard no longer seemed to be paved, and there was snow knee-deep all around. Crumbling walls and towers rose all around them, and Gloria could smell the lovely fragrance of the wind after a fine snow, mingling with a kind of flower, though Gloria couldn't imagine what kind of blossom grew after a blizzard.

"A castle?" Ben seemed for once at a loss for words.

"Yep." Chris nodded, "About two—three hundred years old.

"Why would there be a castle so high in the mountains?" Gloria asked, going over to where the outer walls were just a heap of stone and masonry.

"Must have belonged to a noble or something." Chris went over to her, "You know, if we weren't hiding from a killer, I'd be pretty excited. A discovery like this must be worth a fortune."

"Great!" Ben was being sarcastic yet again, "We found the big and mysterious castle, but we're still stranded in the mountains!"

Gloria scowled at him, though Chris wasn't even paying attention. He was speaking, "The tunnels—of course! We must have wandered into the castle's catacomb network! That's why the grates were there! They were designed to keep wanderers out of the burial chambers—"

"But why was there a tunnel in the hotel's elevator shaft?" Gloria wondered. All of this was

getting her head to hurt.

"Those must have been some kind of extension, built much later."

"Are we still on Mount Rancour?" Gloria asked yet another of the many questions that were flooding her head.

"I think so." Chris moved out enough so that he could see the peak above them, "I can't see the Weinbeck, but I'm willing to bet that we're still on the mountain."

"Can you see the village from here?" Ben asked, craning his neck.

"No, I can't. We might be on another side of the the mountain."

"So we're still stuck!" Ben was exasperated, "What luck!"

"We could go back into the tunnels." Chris suggested.

"No!" Gloria realized only later how loudly she had screamed that out, "I'm not going back down there!"

Chris took her hand once more, "You don't have to." he smiled faintly, before looking up at the towers, some of which were in rather find condition. He said, "The snow's so deep down here. Let's head to the upper floors and set up camp. The view should be great, besides."

Gloria agreed to this at once, ignoring her fear of heights and replacing it with a desperate wish to get out of the deep, damp snow.

"Who made you the leader?" Ben asked Chris, cocking a brow.

Chris sighed, "I was only suggesting—"

"I'm joking, dude." Ben cut him off, flatly.

"Oh." Chris looked a bit sheepish for a moment, before trooping off into the castle.

Gloria followed, eager to rest her legs.

"Come on, Frances!" Roger called, reaching for her arm.

They had been forced to abandon Nick's body, partly because they couldn't get him out from under the rocks, and partly because they didn't know how they were going to carry him along the tunnel.

Frances had been silent for some time now. Roger assumed that she was grieving for her brother. Grieving—

Roger had grieved. He had wept for some time after getting that email from Frances. The lengthy, solemn message that announced his parents were dead. His mother, suicidal, and his father—a pathetic drug-overdose.

They had died within a weak of each other! And it had been another week after the fact, that Roger had been informed. He had retreated into himself. And buried his personality underneath a shear facade of bravado and flamboyance.

He had become a different person; Joyce hadn't known what to do with him. Walter had tried, and failed.

Frances, though, seemed to be more composed. Roger remembered what _he _had done, after crying himself empty. He remembered the sheer numb that had passed over him on ingesting the pain-killers. Pill, after pill, after pill. He remembered the hospital, the therapy—

Frances was just standing there. Walking alongside him, not making a sound. She did not scream or cry or shake. She did not crumple to the floor in a lifeless heap.

She was silent. And that was probably worse than anything Roger had done.

"Frances—" he began, speaking as tenderly as he could manage, "Frances, please say something."

It was a while before Frances spoke, "I can't believe he's gone. I can't believe it." She pressed the flash-drive into Roger's hand, "All that I have left of him is that! That book! That book that I tortured him to death over!"

Still, the tears didn't come to her eyes, though she _did _start shaking violently.

Roger grabbed onto her and held her close. He didn't say anything. He just held her. Just let her tremble and whimper.

Suddenly, Frances seized up, her head shooting up.

"Frances, what is it?" Roger asked her, surprised.

"What are we leaning against?"

Roger let his hand run across the wall, which seemed to be made of wood in this section, "It's a door!"

"A door?" Frances was suddenly alert as a hawk. Roger felt at the door, finding a clutch, which he turned.

There was a great squeaking sound as they entered the room, and the next thing Roger knew, he and Frances were sprawled on the ground in a shallow pool of something slick and slimy.

"Ugh!" Frances groaned, "What is this stuff?"

Roger lifted his hand to his face, and sniffed at the residue that had clung to his fingertips, "It's blood. And there's plenty more of it on the floor, "You got a lighter in that ever-so-trusty bag of yours?"

"Maybe." he heard Frances rummaging in her shoulder bag, "Here it is!"

In the next second, a dim, flickering flame illuminated the little room that they were in. And then they saw the blood—the blood that covered nearly every inch of the floor. It had pooled out from numerous stab wounds, wounds that covered the body of Lois Burkley.

"Lois!" Frances nearly dropped the lighter, which Roger snatched from her, so as to keep her from burning herself.

Frances continued speaking in a weak voice, "She was my first friend on this trip. Oh, the poor thing!"

"She was in our group." said Roger, "How did she get over here?"

"She must have ran when the tunnel started collapsing." Frances hiccuped a bit. She was shaking again, "That would be just like her."

Roger moved the lighter around the room, trying to see whether anyone else was waiting for them.

And there, he saw Yvette. She was tied to a thick pole in the center of the room, gagged with an old rag. She seemed to be unconscious, for she wasn't making a sound and he eyes were half-closed.

"Frances." he choked out, "Frances, look at this."

She turned around and her eyes fell on Yvette, "Is she—" she trailed off, biting her lip.

"No." Roger was sure of this fact. He felt for her wrist, which was cold, but bore a slow, but steady pulse, "She's alive."

"But the gunshot—" Frances was flustered, her voice rising in pitch as she went on, "The cave-in—"

"The killer staged it." Roger found himself stumbling over his words, as well, "Made her scream and fired a gun. It was all set up to kill us."

Frances grew red in the face, "My brother," her voice was steely, struggling to remain firm, "died for nothing! Just as part of some demented whack-job's game!"

She dove back into her bag, and dug around inside it before withdrawing a little pen-knife.

Roger stared, "What's that for?"

"For freeing Yvette. We're not letting this son-of-a-bitch psychopath play around with us any longer!"

She sliced and hacked at the ropes, her hands shaking so much that Roger feared that she would lose a finger.

"Do you need help?"

"No!" she snapped back. Then, in a more controlled voice, she said, "Sorry Roger, but I'd like to fix things on my own."

Finally, the ropes fell to the floor, useless. Frances pulled the gag down from Yvette's mouth and watched her slump to the floor.

"How do we wake her?" wondered Frances, at a loss at last.

"Like this," Roger said, simply enough as he struck Yvette upside the face.

Her eyes snapped open at once. She was gasping, her breath ragged, "What—? Who—? Oh, it's you two." she lowered her eyes before seeming to remember where she was. She looked first at Lois and screamed, "Oh, God! Oh my God!"

She looked at Frances and Roger, "I saw who killed her! I was already tied up—dear God, I could have done something—"

Roger stepped forward and took Yvette by the shoulders, "Yvette, shut up. Please. Who did this?" he gestured over to the bloody remains in the corner, "Was it the same person who kidnapped you?"

Yvette nodded, "Yes. When we heard that terrible explosion coming from the kitchen, I went off like everyone else. As we crossed to lobby—" her voice shook, "He took me."

"Who?" Roger asked firmly, "_Who?_"

"I don't know! No one I was familiar with, at any rate. He was a young man, he wore a mask most of the time and he didn't speak very often."

Roger sighed. That description could have fit nearly anyone in their rather sparse list of suspects, "Go on."

"He carried me into the tunnels and tied me up down here, leaving a candle on." she pointed to a wax stump at the foot of the table, "That's the one. No one else came in until Linda—"

"Lois." Frances corrected.

"This masked man—" Roger went on, "Did he kill her?"

"Yes. He stole into the room behind her and—oh, it was disgusting!"

Roger summed up, "So we know that the killer is male, in his twenties and he wears a mask like the guys in horror movies. That isn't very helpful."

Frances sighed, "Well, come on, Yvette. We have to get out of here."

"Do you know the way out?"

"No." Frances let out a tired breath, "We're gonna find it."

"He's gonna break down the door." Walter had realized. He looked at Selia, who stared back at him with fear undulated in her eyes.

"Selia, Joyce, Minerva." he told them, "All of you hide—"

The shop-keeper, Rachel, cut him off, "In the loft. Lock and bolt the door. I'll buy you some time."

Walter nodded, "I'm staying down here, too."

The decisions of these two to stay downstairs incited Selia and the tight-lipped old woman: Erzebeth, to cry out, "No!"

Said Erzebeth, "Rachel, don't be a fool, now. Come up with us!"

"No." Rachel said, flatly enough as she seized her only weapon: the broomstick, "I'm going to avenge Zach."

Selia grabbed Walter's arm as the sound of feet crunching through the snow outside drew closer and closer, "Walter, come on! We've all got to escape."

"Selia, I want to end this."

"With what?" Selia screeched, gesturing to the shelving around the room, "Tins of biscuits?"

"Selia, I want us all to get out here. We'd be much safer if I could just get rid of this killer."

"Walter!" Selia felt herself choking on her words, the tears were coming so fast, "Walter, think of Roger!"

"I am." Walter replied, "I'd like to think he's still safe. Maybe he's even found his way out of the tunnels, but the way it looks, those shots we heard did him in. I want you to protect Joyce." he looked at his sister, "Joyce, Minerva. Protect each other. All three of you."

Maria was quick to the ready, seizing her charred coat and pulling it on, "Come, let's go!"

Minnie took Selia's hand, "Come on, dear. Walter can take care of himself."

Walter agreed to this, "Yeah, Selia. Besides, I'm not on my own." his eyes flicked over to Rachel, who—with the help of Erzebeth—was barricading the door with everything from barrels to clocks.

And so, as a pounding began to come from the other side of the door, Minerva pulled Selia up the stairs, followed by Joyce, and Maria, who was helping Erzebeth to mount the steep steps.

The loft of Rachel's lot, was perhaps the most uncomfortable spot in all of Geimhaven. The sloping ceiling was so low that one had to crouch to fit in, and the rafters just brushed one's head.

There were even more boxes and crates up here than there were in the store shed, "Good Lord," Erzebeth grumbled, "Rachel hordes more junk than a magpie takes silver!"

There were three windows around the loft; their panes were stained with flecks of frost and bits of ice, though they could see a bit of what each window looked out on.

"Here!" Maria was peering out of a window directly opposite the trapdoor that led into the loft, "This one leads into the yard!"

"We'll need a length of rope—a wire—something like that." Erzebeth had just finished pushing a rather large crate over the trapdoor, sealing them in, "No one's getting through there anytime soon!"

From below them, they heard the banging on the front door continue, and the unintelligible sounds of Walter and Rachel talking.

"We don't have much time." said Joyce, speaking for the first time in a while, "We've got to go!"

She pushed the window open, wincing slightly at the cold breeze that blew into her face.

Selia could see that Joyce was just as distressed as she was about her brother—both of them probably. As she looked around, Selia remembered with a shock, "Where's Eddy?"

But, to Selia's relief, she found that the plucky dog had managed to follow them into the loft of his own accord.

"Here!" Minerva scrambled over to the window on all fours, holding a tight knot of rope, "This should be long enough."

Maria took the rope from her, and unwound it, letting it unfurl in her hand, "It's good!" she informed them, "We've got to tie it around something to keep it steady."

"There's a little thing, here." Selia felt her voice come back to her for a moment, just enough to whisper as she pointed to a sturdy-looking metal switch of some king that was attached to the wall underneath the window.

"Good, good!" Maria instantly went to work, festooning the rope around the switch. She tugged on it a few times, "It's sturdy. Who wants to go first?"

None of them assented. Selia knew, at least, why she didn't want to be first. She wanted to stay a little longer. To see how Walter would fare. Joyce, probably felt the same emotions, looking helpless and lost. Selia went over to her and clasped her hand while Erzebeth spoke up, "You go first, Maria. I'll keep the rope steady."

As Maria swung her legs out the window, there was a great '_bang!_' and screams from downstairs. The killer had kicked the door in.

Selia made to scream, but Minerva stifled it, "Shh!" she hissed, sounding scared to death, "It won't help them if he knows we're up here!"

Maria looked hesitantly at Erzebeth, who barked, "Go, child! I'll be right behind you!"

And with that, Maria had slid down into the deep mounds of snow that covered the back-yard. Looking closely, Selia could still make out the rut where they had all tramped into the shop from the shed.

"You go next, Erzebeth." Joyce implored. Erzebeth ran her eyes over the three of them, "Are you all sure?"

"Yes. We'll be right behind you." Minerva said hastily, "Just go!"

Erzebeth proceeded to waste no time at all in climbing out the window and sliding carefully down to join Maria in the yard.

"Joyce, you next." said Selia, not knowing why she was taking charge all of a sudden, "I'll make sure Walter's safe."

Both Joyce and Minerva belted out, "No!"

Said Joyce, "Selia, you have to go. You too, Minnie. I'm Walter's sister. I'm protecting him."

Minerva planted herself between both of them, "No one is staying here!" she panted, looking haggard, "Joyce, Selia—it's too dangerous. Walter wouldn't want us to stay."

Joyce's eyes were turning red quickly. She was fighting back tears, "You're right, Minnie. You two go right behind me. Got that?"

Minerva replied with a compliant, "Of course." But Selia just gave a ghost of a nod—she didn't want to promise anything just yet.

And then Joyce was gone as well.

The sound of struggling from downstairs was growing louder. The killer was making his way up the stairs.

Eddy let loose with a great string of barks, jumping out of Selia's arms and sheltering in amongst the crates in the corner.

Selia moved to go after him, but her mother steadied her, "He'll be alright! Just go!"

Selia looked into her mother's eyes and was astonished to see that she was crying. Her mother, the strongest of the strong, the most fierce-willed of anyone she knew. She was crying.

"I don't want you to die, Selia." she moaned, "Please, just slide down that rope. I'm going right behind you."

Selia was torn between her two greatest loves. Go downstairs and protect her fiance, or listen to her mother and climb out the window?

She chose the latter. Mom was right: Walter wouldn't want her to risk her life for him. Giving Minerva a kiss and a hug, Selia looked to make sure that Eddy was safe in hiding and slid down the rope, Minerva keeping the rope steady behind her.

As she slid down, Selia heard another banging in the loft. Someone was trying to open the trapdoor; it was very lucky that Erzebeth had waited it down suitably.

"There you are!" Joyce embraced Selia the moment her feet were buried in the yard's snow, "Where's Minnie?"

"She's coming." Selia replied frantically, "But someone's banging against the trapdoor."

"Oh no." Maria breathed, touching her hand to her lips.

"That mother of yours had better hurry along." Erzebeth held her pinched face to the window, "She's running out of time."

As if on cue, Minerva appeared in the window, swinging herself onto the rope.

"Come on, Mom." Selia let the words slip through her teeth, anticipating—hoping for success.

Minerva began to slowly, but surely climb down the rope, and it looked as though she might make it.

And then, the rope began to unravel. Very quickly, in fact. Someone was cutting through it from inside the loft.

Selia stared, open-mouthed, unable to do anything at all, as the rope broke and, with a kind of _whoosh_ through the air, her mom fell and hit the ground, landing in the snow.

Selia let out a wailing cry, held back by Joyce. Minerva Lewis had snapped her neck in her fall, and was dead, leaving her only child an orphan.

Rudi was tired. He really should have gone on that diet all that time ago—it seemed like years and years, but it had only been a few months previously.

Kathy didn't seem to have any troubles with the pace, despite bearing some extra weight of her own. Then again, _she _walked regularly, so she said. Rudi preferred the blissful inactivity of sitting at a table and eating his fill.

Speaking of food, it must have been more than twenty-four hours since his last meal. Breakfast, it had been. They had eaten after discovering the sabotaged gondolas. The gondolas in which Emilia had died.

The old tabby didn't seem to be having much trouble with food. She was snagging onto rats quicker than a winking. Emilia would have had a heart attack by now, what with all the vermin that were simply running rampant every which way.

"How are you doing?" Kathy asked him.

"Well enough, I'd just like to know where in hell we are in all this muddle."

"Oh, we'll find the way out, I'm sure!" Kathy chortled, as happily as if they were on vacation and had gotten lost in the rose garden.

"You are very optimistic." said Rudi caustically, "I would not think it possible that anyone could be so happy after all of this."

"I believe firmly in peaceful meditation. If you take time out of your day to relax and think about problems, even while you're in the most dangerous of situations, you'll be able to put a good face on things. It just takes training!"

"Well, you are admirable all the same."

"Look here!" Kathy was pointing to a set of bars that were part of a series, stretching on into the darkness.

The cat slunk easily through each grate, pausing after the third to stare back at them inquisitively.

"The poor dear's waiting for us." Kathy smiled, "Let's try catching up to her." she scanned the wall, before: "Here!"

There was a winch and pulls, looking as though it had been used quite recently.

"I wonder—" Kathy leaned forward and began turning the winch, causing the grates to roll upward one by one.

When all the grates had been lifted, Kathy secured the winch with the aid of a leather strap that was attached the the pulley, "Let's go!"

They rejoined the cat, who seemed happy enough to have human companionship again. The animal, though, had discovered something terrible.

"It's the Constable!" Kathy gasped. Indeed, there he was. He lay there, perforated like a fly swatter where the grates seemed to have pierced him.

"Let's move on." Rudi said shakilly. Oddly, he had quite forgotten about the Constable. Finding him dead just helped to reinforce how useless he had been when investigating the murders.

They went on: Rudi, Kathy and the cat. They turned corners, traversed paths. Went down tunnels that sloped and up tunnels that ascended.

And there they saw the stairway. Rudi felt a great bubble of joy welling up inside him. They had found a way out.

Even the cat seemed eager to get back into the fresh air, for she dashed up the steps fast as a lighting bolt in summertime.

"Quickly, Rudolph, quickly!" Kathy called back to him, as she trotted along.

Rudi laughed aloud. They were free!

Chris looked around the tower room that their trio had chosen to rest in. It was airy, and there were some shingles missing from the top, leaving the mildewed rafters as a grid looking out onto the gray sky, in which some small patches of blue were starting to appear. As for furnishings, there wasn't much, except some threadbare sheets and a rotted wooden chest that was empty, save for some long dead rats.

Ben had gone back to the lower floors, saying something about: 'Making sure no one followed us.'

Gloria had already curled up in the sheets, and looked to be half-asleep already. Chris was tired too, and it seemed as is they were all safe at last.

It would be nice to sleep. To relax—bathe himself in quiet after all of the terrible things that had occurred.

"What are you thinking about?" Gloria had woken up.

Chris sat down beside her, gingerly putting his arm around her shoulder, "It feels so weird. To be all alone in this old place. Not exactly safe—but still protected."

Gloria looked at him for a while, her eyes sizing him up before she did something completely unexpected.

She kissed him.

Chris had kissed a few girls his age, but not very many. And none of them had felt like this. Kissing Gloria was uplifting; it made him forget all his troubles. For a moment, all of Chris' worries—Kathy's whereabouts, the hidden killer, the isolation of the castle—all fled from his mind. For he was kissing Gloria Miller and nothing else in the world mattered.

They wrapped their arms around each other, Gloria crying gently, tears dripping down her face. She was glad, Chris could tell. She was relieved to at last have someone to confide it. Someone to love.

It was so cold in the lonely tower room, and yet Chris found himself pulling off his jacket, let Gloria run his hands along his back, removing his top.

Was Chris ready for this? Ready to make that final commitment to Gloria? To prove that he was one and whole with her?

Yes, he decided. Yes, he was ready.

But they were interrupted by Ben's voice echoing up through the castle, "Chris! Your lady friend it here!"

A pause, "And she's brought a cat!"

Chris and Gloria parted and a great laugh burst from deep within him.

Kathy was here!

Holding Selia was a chore, indeed. The poor thing just stood in that yard, up to her knees in hard, solid snow. Just sobbing—sobbing, sobbing. She shook violently, screaming the dickens as Erzebeth and Maria lifted Minnie's body out of the snow.

Joyce couldn't keep the tears back herself. Poor Selia—poor Minnie. Selia was orphaned now. Just as orphaned as Joyce.

But Selia had no siblings, that was the catch. She was alone now, for heavens knows what that bastard had done to Walter in the shop.

"We'll hide the body!" Erzebeth was telling her, "Just take Selina and get her over that fence."

They were talking of protecting Minnie's corpse form the killer—hiding it in the very shed through which they had come to this accursed place. Meanwhile, Joyce was to haul Selia over the wooden picket fence and out into the streets of Geimhaven.

Maria helped Erzebeth lift the body, and the two women staggered across the yard with it.

"Come on Selia, we've got to go." said Joyce, trying to sound level but feeling terrible for taking Selia away from her mother.

"No! _No!_" Selia repeated the word like a mantra. A mantra that would bring back her mom.

It took much effort, but eventually Selia complied and stumbled over the fence, Joyce right behind her.

They headed down a block or two and stopped. It was so silent in the village, though it was six in the evening. Joyce was certain that on a normal day, there would be people bustling their ways through the streets and frequenting the shops in the square.

But Erzebeth must have been right: all the other locals—or almost all of them—had been killed. Where were their bodies? Perhaps stowed in their houses, their workplaces. There certainly weren't any in the streets, which only made the scene look even more unusually serene.

Selia had by now quieted her bawling somewhat, and was now simply crying, letting tears come like torrential rainwater, staining her cheeks with their filmy residue.

"W-Walter." she sputtered at last.

Joyce ran the back of her hand over her eyes, "Selia—we can't go back to the shop. It isn't safe. Walter _will _get out. I know he will."

"You don't know anything." Selia spat the words out with a fervor, "He could be lying on that floor right now with blood seeping out of his heart!"

Joyce felt hurt. Did Selia not think that Joyce cared about her brother? And what of Roger? They still had no idea where _he_ was, if he was still alive at all.

But Joyce knew that Selia wasn't being selfish. She was worried, worried so that it made her selfish. Walter was her fiance; her last real ally.

Selia had lost so much in just a week. Her father. Her mother. Even her dog had been abandoned up in that loft.

But Joyce had to get Selia to a safe place. Erzebeth had suggested the handy-man's garage on the edge of town. She had said that the handy-man himself had likely been killed many days ago, so it wasn't likely that the killer would return there.

Joyce took Selia's arm and headed along. Erzebeth had told them to use only the side-streets, as a precaution.

Joyce was happy to take that advice.

Rudi couldn't stop himself from beaming as Kathy chatted exuberantly with Chris, Gloria, and even Ben, who she didn't seem to like very much.

The cat had pranced away across the courtyard, probably in search of more rats.

"Oh, this is stupendous!" Kathy was saying, "We've found you, and now everything will be peaches and cream!"

"It's good to see you too, Kathy." Chris replied, "But we _are _still in the middle of nowhere. We may not be able to get help for a while, yet."

Kathy was fazed by this only for a moment, before she went on, "Well, at least we're all together. There was a bit of confusion earlier, and we lost the rest of our group."

Ben looked puzzled, "What happened?"

"We heard screams. And then there was a gunshot! The whole place started to collapse and we lost them. Lois, and Frances and the rest—I do hope they're alright."

Ben was more concerned on the former topic, rather than the well-being of the others, "You heard screams? Did you recognize who was screaming?"

"Well, I believe it was Yvette, though I can't be certain."

The reaction this had on Chris, was rather shocking. He grew pale and began to tremble, as Gloria stayed his arm.

Kathy gave Chris a downcast smile, "I'm sorry, hun. I know she was your friend."

Chris nodded and said, "And you don't know what happened to the others?"

"No." Kathy sighed, "And believe you me, I'm worried sick about poor Lois. She's probably having a panic attack as we speak." she laughed grimly.

At last, Gloria spoke up, "It's getting late. We should all get some sleep."

Kathy consented to this at once, "Oh, yes! My feet are throbbing faster than my heart!"

Said Rudi, "I hope no one will mind if I explore the place a bit, first? I really do need to stretch my legs and the air is lovely this evening."

"Whatever," said Ben, off-hand, "It's your neck on the line."

Kathy scowled at him before turning to Rudi, "Good night, Rudolph. Do take care."

With that, Kathy permitted herself to be escorted to one of the towers, and Rudi was left alone in the cool, silent courtyard.

What a marvel this place was! Rudi didn't think anywhere in the world was still this quiet—as if there were no other living things around at all.

Beyond the courtyard, there was a pavilion that seemed to have one been a kennel, where hounds had been kept. This area was more ruinous than the rest of the castle by far, with heaps of cast-off stone and brick stacked up the heavens.

Not a sound. Not a single noise to make this scene seem like a reality. It was eerie; a type of ambiance so unreal, that it made Rudi's head spin.

There were no stones in the ground in this area of the ruin. Just patches of gray dirt, glazed over with hoarfrost, but not snow, as in the courtyard. The snow here was heaped up on the stacks of rubble.

What misfortune had befallen this place? What had driven away the aristocrats that had once kept dogs in this kennel and had held parties in the grand hall? Likely, he would never know, considering that apparently no one else had ever stumbled upon this castle and lived to tell the tale.

And evidently, Rudi wouldn't have much time to tell tales himself. As he stepped over to a shadowy eave, Rudi tripped up some sort of cord. He stumbled for a moment, but managed to regain his balance, just in time to realize that he had sprung a clever booby trap.

How could this be? How had the killer possibly ascertained that they would all be here, at the castle?

Unless the killer had already been there.

Rudi had no further time to think, or even move a single step to get out of the way, as one of the largest mounds of stone and masonry, hewn by the carpenters of a far-off age, crumbled down and crushed him.

A/N: Two more deaths! Minerva was another hard death, but it serves as a plot point for later on, having Selia orphaned, and all. As for Rudi—I liked him, but killing him wasn't a very big dilemma.

Update Coming—Hopefully—Next Friday!:)


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11, Thud!

Disclaimer: The characters and setting belong to us. The premise is that of _Harper's Island _which we don't own.

A/N: That was a pretty long hiatus! But never fear, _Mount Rancour_ is back on track with the first scene of the final act! We have roughly fifteen characters left—well, thirteen, if you take away the two animals—and a wide prospect for killers. There will be a _lot_ of deaths this chapter, and I'm pretty sure some things will catch some readers by surprise.

Let's get started!

It was very dark, about thirty minutes past midnight. The handy-man's garage was cluttered and smelled of freshly sawn wood, with hints of leather.

Selia had bedded down in the bunk that must have once belonged to Zaccarias Oscow, but Joyce could not sleep.

She wandered the garage, thinking to herself: _What will become of us? It's been ages—where are Erzebeth and Maria? This place, this dead, cold, accursed village! I can't last—I really can't last. Is Walter alright? Did he fight off the killer? What of Roger? Did he ever find his way out of the tunnels?_

No matter what Joyce did, she couldn't get the pathetic picture of Minnie out of her her head. Lying in the snowbank; her neck twisted at that unnatural angle. She had been just about to escape, and now she would never see her daughter again.

Joyce paused at the top of the cellar stairs. There was a smell of rotten meat coming from down there. No doubt, there were corpses, perhaps that of Oscow. Maybe some others, as well.

Joyce, though, did not want to see any more gruesome sights, and bolted the cellar door. There were no more sounds coming from outside the garage. No wind blew, no bird cried, no snow crunched under approaching footsteps.

Dammit, where was that old hag, Erzebeth? Selia had already helped Joyce barricade the door with chairs, boxes and racks of tools. No one would set foot in this garage, if Joyce didn't want them to.

But still, there was the waiting. Waiting. Waiting for what?

For help of course. But what if help didn't come on time? She was waiting for death, that was it! For there would be no help, ever. The others were all dead they had to be—No!

Joyce rubbed her temples. She was stressing herself out over this. Oh, but what else could she do? She was hungry, thirsty, and needed sleep.

But she must not sleep! Selia was sleeping, Joyce must keep watch.

That was what she had to do, and that is what she would do.

Erzebeth helped Maria to clamber around to the front of the shop. They had put the woman's body in the store shed, just over the trapdoor that led into the tunnels. Maria had wanted to go to Oscow's garage and the others at once, though Erzebeth had pressed the point that Rachel and that other man might have survived, and if so, they might still be in the shop.

"Step deftly, child." she whispered as Maria stumbled over a piece of debris in the street, half-buried by the snow.

"Sorry Erzebeth," she sighed, "I'm just a little nervy."

"Well, never you fear." Erzebeth said gently, "We'll just take a quick peek inside—" she stopped short.

The door of the shop was opened part of the way. Not a good sign. Still, Erzebeth led Maria forward. They would not turn back now! Not when the lives of two innocents were in jeopardy!

And they entered the shop.

The first thing that the two women noticed was Selia's dog, whom they remembered had stayed in the loft, strung from the rafters. He had been gutted. They then saw Selia's fiance: Walter. He was lying, spread-eagled on the counter-top. A piece of piping had been thrust through his heart, and now jutted up from him like an arrow in his breast. He was dead, of course.

Rachel was festooned to the doorpost of the backroom, tied up with a series of leather belts that had been displayed on a _For Sale_ rack by the door. There was another pipe in Rachel, this one run through her abdomen. She looked pale and ashen, but she was alive. Still alive!

Erzebeth hastened over to her friend, to the woman who had saved her from freezing to death in the high street, and said, "Rachel! Rachel, child, who did this to you?" Erzebeth suddenly found herself blinking furiously. She did not usually shed tears, but to watch one of her friends die before her very eyes was something that Erzebeth could not flinch away from.

Rachel spoke, her words light and barely audible, she was losing so much blood, "Erzebeth—Erzebeth, he killed us! He killed us all!"

Erzebeth felt that Rachel was babbling. She could not understand this senseless prattle, "Who, Rachel? _Who?_"

"Gobler!" Rachel raised her voice a bit, just enough that Maria heard as well, "Deputy Gobler!"

"What?" Erzebeth shook her head, "But he went to take Geraldine down to the valley days ago!"

"H-he's back!" Rachel did not have much more time left, "He's beaten up—he must have been hurt very badly, recently. Erzebeth—"

But whatever else Rachel was going to say was cut off by the unfortunate shop-keeper's

untimely death.

Yvette dragged along behind Roger and Frances. She was tired, thirsty—hungry. Oh, how she was hungry! But, no doubt they all were.

She was sick of these tunnels. She had been hauled down here by some mysterious man whom she couldn't recognize even if she tried. The little room where she had been kept stank of mustiness and rat droppings. And worse of all, she had to watch Lois—poor, innocent Lois who had never hurt a soul in her life—stabbed brutally by her captor.

She wondered how the others had fared. Especially Chris. Dear God, what had happened to Chris? He must have been alive. He _needed _to be alive.

And what had happened to that mouse of a girl: Gloria? Was she still alive? Trailing after Chris, worshipingthe very ground he walked on! Yvette shook her head, "_Keep steady, my girl._" she thought to herself, "_There's no worse time in all creation to lose your head like this._"

She needed to stay calm. Calm. Perfectly calm—

_Bang!_

Roger gave a start, Frances cried out, and Yvette jumped back to grab at the wall. Someone had fired a gun, not too far off.

"Not again!" Frances wailed, "No, no, not again!" Someone was shooting at them.

More shots rang true, even closer, and the not-so-distant sound of collapsing tunnels began to resonate, some as close to directly around the corner.

"Run!" Roger panted, "Get back!"

In the resulting chaos, Yvette quite lost sight of the others. But that didn't matter. She had to get away—she had to flee as fast as her legs could carry her.

She needed sunlight. Fresh air; a cool breeze blowing through her hair.

This was hell. Hell and nothing more than that. She needed out. Needed out—

She rounded a corner. The rumbling sounds were now far behind her, but so were her companions. What was she to do? Helpless, that's what she was. Helpless as a bird that has broken its wing and can never fly again.

Yvette crumpled onto the grimy, dusty floor, and sobbed. She wept and wept, certain that there was no more time.

She couldn't get away from all this. She was going to die.

Lovely. The heat and the throes of it. Gloria lay in that tower, entwined with Chris in sort of everlasting embrace.

This was wonderful. This was full. This was all she had ever wanted—

"AHHHH!"

Gloria sat bolt upright, uttering a little shriek of her own.

Chris looked up, groping in the corner for his glasses. Said he, in a voice that did not sound like his own, "That's Kathy!"

Quickly, more so than Gloria thought possible, they attired themselves and ran down the tower steps, colliding with Ben on the way down.

This of course, led to the whole three of them to fall in a distressed tumble down the stairs.

"Get your goddamn foot out of my eye!" Ben pushed at Gloria's boot, causing the heel of it to conk Chris in the head.

By now, Kathy's screams had turned into mad sobbing, and Gloria knew, before they even reached her, what had happened.

They found Kathy in a courtyard to the edge of the castle premiss. She was bent double over a wide spread of rubble. Stones and bits of plaster and mortar. But there was a figure lying amongst all of that.

Chris was the first of them to go to Kathy. He laid his hand on her shoulder, let her turn her head into his chest, and cry on him.

And on how she cried! Kathy's weeping bore forth a sort of thing Gloria had never thought possible in a woman like her. Kathy Smith was human. She was not simply some nearly-perfect, jovial photographer. She was a mortal. She was just as afraid as the rest of them. She had loved ones—she may even have _loved_ one.

Rudolph DeStefano was half-buried under the rubble, his body battered beyond recognition. Kathy had her eyes fixed on him. Tears flowed freely down her face, her hands clutching, barely aware, at the stones.

Chris still held her, and soon Gloria was compelled, as if by some forgone connection, to take Chris' free hand, and clutch it tightly.

Ben, Gloria noticed, still stood off to the side. He studied the scene, not seeming to want to involve himself. No tears gathered in his eyes. No sob escaped from his lips.,

But Kathy cried, and Chris cried with her. Gloria soon felt her own vision clouding. Silent tears fell, not entirely for the man that lay before her, but also for the danger they were all in. She didn't want anyone else to get hurt. She didn't want to see anyone else die. She simply wanted to get out of here. To come safely away from these mountains, hand-in-hand with Chris, basking in the warm glow that he emitted.

For it was clear now: the killer was in the castle. They weren't safe anywhere.

"Roger!" Frances called, "Roger, I found an exit!"

But he did not reply. He was not there.

The end of the tunnels where Frances had spent the last—she had no idea how long she'd been in those tunnels, come to think of it—loomed before her. A set of stairs, on top of which was a door through which a dim light shined.

Tentatively and taking great pains to remain quiet, Frances reached the door and took the knob in her hand. Tremulously—carefully—she turned the knob—

A parlor. Well, it looked like a parlor.

The room itself wasn't very big. The furniture looked not nearly comfortable enough to belong in a parlor. And as for the light, a pair of flickering oil-lamps stood on little wooden shelves to either side of the room.

What was this place? Why were their lights on?

Frances moved further into the room to find it absolutely deserted. Not a single breath stirred. Not a single voice took hold.

And then, with a sudden creak, the door closed.

Of course! How could she have been so stupid? There _had _been someone else in the room, hiding just behind the door!

He wasn't anyone Frances knew. Tall, lank, he wore a mask to hide his face, and his clothes weren't anything to right home about. Perhaps it was that fact that made him so terribly horrifying to Frances.

That, and the fact that this must have been the killer.

The man held no weapon in his hand. No garotte wire or knife. He simply advanced on Frances, his eyes—which could barely be seen through little pin-pricks in his mask—glistening with malice and his stride very purposeful.

Frances really didn't want to die a helpless death. This wasn't a horror movie and she _definitely _wasn't some blonde prom queen out in the woods. She was Frances Antoni. She had lost her brother. Her parents. She had but herself. And she was not going down without a fight.

There was a spindly wooden chair in a corner near her. Frances seized it and brought it down over the man's head. Unfortunately, Frances had had no practice with such things, and the chair simply fell out of her hands, merely grazing the killer's head. The mask, though, came off.

It was terrible. The face of what had once been a rather plain-looking young man was now marred by scars. He was no one Frances knew, but that didn't make him something to blink at.

The next closest thing to Frances was one of the oil-lamps. That would be a dangerous move, but it would serve. Frances would just have to calculate the quickest way to get to the door—ah! She didn't have to leave the way she had come; there was a second door across the room, atop a small flight of steps.

Her mind was made up. She was getting out of these tunnels.

The lamp was snatched from its shelf, and the next second, it was thrown onto the floor where it burst. The burning oil quickly spread around the room, consuming the dry wooden furniture in moments. The killer backed up against the wall, staring at Frances with murder in his eyes.

He was by now trapped behind a barrier of fire, keeping him from his intended victim. The stairs were easily climbed, though the door beyond them was bolted tight.

"Damn! Damn! Damn!" Frances kicked the blasted thing in frustration.

She had to open the door. Her very life depended on it.

She pushed and pounded and kicked until—at last!—the door swung inward and Frances felt out into the light. The air.

The freedom.

It was a silent procession. Mournful, with the darkness of early morning adding to the gloom.

Erzebeth Flaton thought this was highly apropos, considering the bloodbath in the general store, the aftermath of which she and Maria had walked in on.

_The killer was Oscar Gobler._

Why him? Why the deputy? What motive had he? What madness had been eating away at him?

Why start a vendetta against all these people? The citizens of Geimhaven and even the innocent Christmas guests staying at the Weinbeck Hotel?

There must have been some sort of ulterior motivation. Some crazed drive that had caused that seemingly harmless, if not rather dim, boy to start a murderous rampage.

Then again, Erzebeth had only the word of a dying woman—one in the last throes, on top of it—that it was the deputy. It might well have been someone else, and Rachel had just been raving as she drew her last breath.

Rachel. Poor, poor, Rachel. At last she would be with her Zach. At last they would be alone together.

Maria was awfully silent, and had not once even lifted her face from the steep, snow covered walk.

"Maria, child," Erzebeth looked at the reporter, "What is the matter?"

Maria looked up, and Erzebeth saw that her diamond-shaped face was stained with tears.

The girl wiped at her eyes and said, "It's unfair, Erzebeth. All these deaths." she cast a mad look around the village, "Behind every one of these doors must be corpses untold! That Deputy Gobler was the one who drove Geraldine to the train station!"

Erzebeth paled. She had nearly forgotten about that!

"He had ample time to do away with her." she croaked, looking at Maria with an expression of dismay on her face, "She never even got to stand trial!"

The evil of it struck both women like a torrent of ice water. Gobler had framed Geraldine for her husband's murder. He'd murdered his employer—for wasn't it all too likely that Constable Carris had died on Mount Rancour?—cut up Zaccarias.

And he had murdered Rachel, Walter, that poor little puppy.

What _had _made him do it? What _was _his motive?

But no time for any of that. They had reached the garage.

The ceiling was highly nondescript. Some rafters spread across the field of wooden planks. Selia had been studying the ceiling of Zaccarias Oscow's garage for about two hours now. She lay in the handy-man's little bed and stared.

She needed to know if Walter was okay.

Mom, Dad, Eddy—she had lost too many. She could not—no she _would not—_lose her fiance. There were sounds of knocking from downstairs. Careful footsteps; Joyce opening the doors. Voices! The two local women must have come back!

Selia sprang out of bed and pulled on her jacket. She ran down the stairs faster that an arrow from the bow, and entered into the workshop to find Joyce, Erzebeth and Maria. But where was Walter?

"What happened?" she asked instantly, ignoring the fact that all three of them had been nearly scared to death with her sudden arrival, "_Where is Walter_?"

Maria looked away from her, and Selia noted that her face glimmered with tracks of dried up tears. Erzebeth stared at Selia, then at Joyce, who piped in, "Yes. Where is he?"

In answer, Erzebeth merely lowered her head with a dry sob.

Joyce buried her face in her hands. Selia screamed.

It couldn't be happening. It couldn't be true.

She had lost him. _She had lost her Walter._

A cry. A piercing cry that rent the silent air.

Frances looked around to observe her surroundings. She had emerged somewhere in the village. From a shack that held several loaves of bread. The bakery. The air was wonderfully cold and fresh. The light wind stirred her hair and woke her after all those hours spent in those suffocating tunnels.

She was hungry, and there was plenty of food lining the walls here. A quick meal of chabatta loaf later and Frances realized that she had left her shoulder bag in the tunnels. In a rush of panic, she reached to her pocket—and the flash-drive was still there. That was Nick's legacy. She refused to let him down.

Someone had uttered that scream. It would be in Frances' best interest to find out who that was. That person couldn't be under attack. Frances had just disposed of the killer. And if he wasn't dead yet, he'd certainly be detained for quite a while.

She staggered up the street, the wind blowing snowdrifts into her face. She should have brought a heavier coat, she really _should _have.

The screams had abated; in their place there was now a steady set of sobs. Two women. Frances hurried faster and faster toward the edge of the village, where she found the source of the hysteria.

In a little garage to the very end of the village four women stood. Two of them Frances recognized: Selia and her sister Joyce. The other two women must have been locals.

They stood in the middle of the room, having left the front doors wide open.

Frances walked inside, looking around at all of them. The little old lady was the first to notice her. She asked sharply, "Who are you?"

This got the attention of the others. Selia lifted her tear-stained face to look at Frances and ran to her, wrapping her arms around her.

What was all this about? Frances barely knew Selia! Why was everyone having such a fit?

"Walter—Walter's dead!" she sobbed, "Walter, my mom, the shopkeeper—they're all dead!"

Frances dumbly patted Selia on the back, not sure of what she was supposed to say.

Joyce came over to her and clasped her free hand, "Frances where are the others? _Where's Roger_?"

Frances lowered her eyes, "I don't know. We were separated. They were killed: Lois, Nick—we found Yvette, but I've no idea where she is now.

Frances had assumed Joyce would instantly break down over her brother's mysterious fate, but instead hugged Frances, "I'm sorry about your brother."

Frances nodded; the weight of everything this last week had done to her. The love the frustration, the murders. She found herself crying.

She wanted to get away. She wanted to fly off from these mountains and never come back. This was hell, that's all it was. Burning, fiery, miserable hell.

Yvette had passed out. In her mind's eye, she began to see the most peculiar of images. First Chris was running from something, and Gloria was with him. Yvette tried to get to him, tried to save the one she loved—the only one she had loved.

But the scene suddenly changed. Now she was in a pit. A grave. She saw Eli lying there, his face twisted in a maniacal grimace. There were others. The old Italian woman, the Constable, Lois, whom she had seen killed.

And now a sea of blood rose up around her, swallowing the bodies and sucking Yvette into its depths—

"Yvette! Yvette, wake up!"

Where was she? Of course. She had never left the cold, filthy floor of the tunnel. Roger was bending over her, shaking her.

"Roger—where are the others?"

"No idea." he seemed to notice how badly shaken up she was, and helped her to her feet, "Come on, let's get the hell out of here."

He started down, Yvette following him.

She needed Chris. She needed to know if he was alright. Him and poor little Kathy and even that detestable Gloria.

She looked at Roger. Did he worry about Frances as much? Maybe Yvette had grown too attached to Chris. He was going to be alright, she knew so much. She had loved and lost in the past. She had just never known love as fervent as this.

These tunnels—she hated them. She hated this whole damned place. Her deal to sing at that thrice-accursed Christmas party—

That seemed so long ago. Her first performance, after which she had fought with Eli—that must have been his last night.

So many had died since then. She had been snatched away and locked up, She had been forced to watch that timid little creature be mercilessly slaughtered while she was helpless to protect her.

This killer was a twisted son of a bitch, that was certain. But she would get out. She had always been her own person—in a way—

She _would_ survive.

"Thank you." Kathy said hoarsely, "I—I can't believe it."

She had lost it. She never should have popped a cap like that. In front of Chris, too! Oh, he must be thinking so badly of her!

She had not been able to stop herself. When she saw poor Signor DeStefano crushed beneath all those stones, she had simply lost it.

Too many deaths—

Too many murders—

Chris and Gloria helped her up and led her into one of the more intact antechambers of the castle. The tabby cat was lounging here, grooming itself.

"Should we head out or stay?" Ben was the first to raise the question, "The killer's clearly somewhere near here, if he was able to rig that trap. We ought to go out—"

"Where?" asked Gloria, her tone biting harder than the cold, "Back into those terrible tunnels, or down the barren mountainside?"

Ben shrugged, "We'll vote."

"I think we should stay." said Chris, "When the sun rises, we might be able to send a signal to the village. If we walk down the mountain we'd be easy targets, and if we take the tunnels we'd just get lost again."

Kathy nodded in agreement, "We could light a signal fire."

"Or try a heliograph." Chris added.

Ben scowled, "If you want to be sitting ducks for the murderer, do as you please. _I'm_ escaping with my life."

He turned to go, but Gloria stopped him, "Can't you use your brain for once?" she snapped, her eyes blazing in a way they never had, "If you go out there alone you might as well be dead!"

"If no one's gonna go with me—"

Gloria struck him; a full, burning slap that echoed in the little room.

Chris went to her and led her to a seat, though he was looking at Ben with an expression of intense dislike.

The weightlifter lifted his hand to feel his face, and winced at the sting.

"You're in for it." he hissed at them, "You'll all be dead by sunrise." he spun around on his heel and left.

No one bothered to stop him.

Five women. Five women sat in a circle around a small table. Five women, one corpse. It had not taken them long at all to find the corpse of Zaccarias Oscow once they had put their minds to it.

He had been stuffed into a cellar room, his arms and head severed from his main body and the whole thing stinking like putrid meat.

The party had had a brief consultation to discuss what was to be done with these remains, and in the end it was decided that the body would remain there.

Selia had cried too many tears this weekend. Far too many. Therefore, she found herself unable to cry any further as she lay her head on Joyce's shoulder. Joyce had cried too. She cried for Minerva, she cried for Walter and she cried most of all for Roger. Where was he? Was he safe? Had he escaped the tunnels yet?

Frances had her face tucked into her folded arms. She did not want to speak to anyone. She had long ago resolved not to cry. She had seen too much to be all of a flutter at the discovery of a man's corpse.

Erzebeth did not cry. She refused to cry. Seeing Rachel pass on right before her had done enough to give her decent pause: she was a terrible protector. She had to watch the others now. Watch the others and hope no one else had died—

Maria felt thoroughly out of place amidst all this. She sat far removed from the rest of them. A distant look in her eyes, deeply gray like pools of a mysterious smoke. She felt empty. She _was _empty. What was she doing here? Just some stupid article for her stupid newspaper. And now there was all this!

Five women. Five nervous faces looking at each other.

Five captive souls, yearning to be set free.

"Only the good die young." Roger mumbled, half to himself, as he and Yvette moved further and further into the tunnels, hoping to find an exit.

Yvette looked at him, "Who said that?"

"Billy Joel." Roger replied flatly, "And it's true. All those people. I'd like you to name one of them that deserved to die."

Yvette bit her lip, "No one ever deserves to die. Not even the most evil, wicked people in the world need to die."

Roger thought about Joyce and Walter—and Frances. Where were they?

"No one deserves to die." he repeated the phrase as though it were a mantra, "So many died young."

"Lois Burkely wasn't young." Yvette corrected him, shuddering something fierce.

"You're right. Neither was the old Vishtko woman, the Italian lady, the manager, and old man Lewis."

"No one's safe." Yvette's voice broke, "There's no justice in this world. Only the evil win. The good are doomed to suffer."

She paused to slump against the wall, and for a moment Roger feared that she would not be able to go on.

But she righted herself in next-to-no-time and was soon walking beside him again.

"No justice." her voice was soft as a whisper, "No justice—"

They'd all be mad by the end of this. The greatest heights of unbound insanity.

Ben came back. He had only been gone five minutes when he ran up from the castle's lower floors screaming, "He's here! The killer, he's right outside!"

At first, the other three refugees might have thought he was playing one of his signature sardonic jokes. But they saw the blood on his arm, a large gash that could only have been opened by the edge of a boarding knife.

Kathy screamed, screamed louder than even the most jovial of her laughs. Gloria's eyes widened like saucers. Chris stood, nearly tripped over the cat, and began to rally everyone together.

"The tunnels, come on! We've got to head to the tunnels!" he took Gloria by one hand and Kathy by the other. The cat, clever beast that it seemed to be, dashed along at their heels.

They were halfway across the courtyard when they saw the menacing figure whom Ben had been referring to. He was tall, gruff, badly burned—and fairly recently too, by the look of it—his clothes were tattered, and there was a shotgun festooned to his back. His face, a rather boyish face from all appearances, was that of a man who has seen too much, and does not wish to go on. And in his hand he held, as Chris had suspected, a boarding knife, shining with fresh blood. Ben's blood.

"Head to the stairs!" Ben's voice snapped Chris out of the trance-like state he had been in. They headed in the direction of the wide stairway leading down into the bowels of the castle. Running, running—they couldn't pause for even a second, the killer was gaining on them so fast.

They dashed down the stairs so quickly that they nearly tumbled down. Gloria actually _did _fall halfway down, and was saved from cracking her head open by Kathy's steadying hand.

The vaulted ceilings of these bottommost chambers were dark as pitch, with only a dim bit of light—that of the rising sun—coming from chinks in the walls.

Chris looked around madly, seeming to have completely lost his senses, "Where's the trapdoor?"

This was the question that quite stupefied the others. Where was that flagstone that led into the tunnels? The floor was paved with stones that all looked more or less the same. And they could hear the raving footfall on the stairs behind them.

There was nowhere to hide. Nowhere to go. Sitting ducks, just as Ben had said. Chris found himself cursing his stupidity. They should have all headed out ages ago! DeStefano's death should have lead them to realize that.

BANG!

A gunshot. The killer had fired his shotgun at one of the vaulted ceiling-supports. Almost instantly the room began collapsing on itself. The stones of the castle foundations began to crumble. They would all be crushed.

Gloria, backing away as hastily as she could manage, tripped again, and found herself looking down a chute.

"I found the entrance!" she called, barely heard over the collapsing ruins.

The others hurried toward her, the killer not far behind. Ben wasted no time in getting down the stairs and into the darkness, but Kathy hesitated, prompted by Chris hanging back.

"Chris hun, what is it?" she asked, "Come on, we've got to go!"

Chris looked at his friend, "I'm going to end this, Kathy. It can't go on."

"But you'll never get out!" to further prove her point, the stairs leading up into the main castle were suddenly blocked off by heaps of masonry.

"Nonsense." Chris assured her, "I'll be right behind you."

Kathy looked doubtful, but Gloria spoke up, "I'll stay with him, Kathy. He'll be fine with me." Chris rounded on her, looking about to protest. But he saw the determination in her eyes. There was no way she would back down.

Kathy went down the stairs and out of sight. The killer approached still closer, raising the knife.

Chris wasn't much of a fighter. In fact, he was terrible at such things. But he planned to try. He lunged, raised a fist to strike the killer in the face, but he was stopped by the knife being shoved into his chest.

_Thud!_

Gloria screamed, watching as the boarding knife was pulled out of him. _Crack!_

His glasses lay shattered on the floor. Chris lay back, his dimming eyes looking once last time at Gloria.

And that was the end of him.

Gloria howled, her scream only masked by the huge stone that came down to block the tunnel entrance. She couldn't bare it, not anymore. She had been through too much this goddamned Christmas week. She had fallen in love, been chased by a killer, watched untold numbers of people die. And now the one man in her life who had ever loved her was dead.

She got to her feet, barely aware of her senses anymore. The knife was still clutched in the killer's hand, a new coating of blood masking the old.

Gloria ran to take the knife, to drive it into the killer's breast. But he was too fast for her. The knife ran through her, but not as deeply as it had for Chris. Evidently, the killer was getting cocky.

Pain. Searing and terrible pain. But she could still turn the tables. The killer was now pulling the knife out of her, slowly as possible, as if trying to extend the pain further. But it would not be so simple. Gloria seized the knife and pulled it out as far as her limited strength enabled her.

The knife was raised. She knew this was the end, but there would be one to take with her. Gloria plunged the knife into the killer.

The man, this man whom Gloria had never known before now, was on his knees. He died much faster than Chris had. It seemed that Gloria had more reserved strength, even when dying, than that killer had had.

That, somehow, was a reassuring thought. It felt good to know that she was proving a more righteous end then the man who had taken so many other lives.

This was it now, she had bled out enough. Just to close her eyes.

She'd be with Chris now. She'd be with him forever.

A/N: Five deaths! The shop-keeper, the fiance, the dog, the student and the klutz! And now there are ten—or nine, if you discount Frau. Bilkenau. The killer has been revealed as Oscar Gobler—who is now dead. But there's still two chapters left, so therefore there _must _be another killer.

But who?

Update Coming Next Friday!:)


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